_Ober._ Turn but thy head. _Enter four_ Kings _carrying crowns_, Ladies _presenting odours to_ Potentate _enthroned, who suddenly is slain by his_ Servants _and thrust out; and so they eat._ [_Exeunt._ _Boh._ Sike is the werld; but whilk is he I saw? _Ober._ Sesostris, who was conqueror of the world, Slain at the last and stamp'd on by his slaves. _Boh._ How blest are peur men, then, that know their graves! Now mark the sequel of my jig. (4.)[260] _Boh._ An he weel meet ends. The mirk and sable night Doth leave the peering morn to pry abroad; Thou nill me stay: hail, then, thou pride of kings! I ken the world, and wot well worldly things. Mark thou my jig, in mirkest terms that tells The loath of sins and where corruption dwells. Hail me ne mere with shows of guidly sights; My grave is mine,--that rids me from despites. (5.) _Boh._ Accept my jig, guid king, and let me rest; The grave with guid men is a gay-built nest. _Ober._ The rising sun doth call me hence away; Thanks for thy jig, I may no longer stay: But if my train did wake thee from thy rest So shall they sing thy lullaby to nest. [_Exeunt._ ACT THE SECOND SCENE I.--_Porch to the Castle of the_ COUNTESS OF ARRAN. _The_ COUNTESS OF ARRAN _and_ IDA _discovered sitting at work._ _A Song._[261] _Count. of A._ Fair Ida, might you choose the greatest good, 'Midst all the world in blessings that abound, Wherein, my daughter, should your liking be? _Ida._ Not in delights, or pomp, or majesty. _Count. of A._ And why? _Ida._ Since these are means to draw the mind From perfect good, and make true judgment blind. _Count. of A._ Might you have wealth and fortune's richest store? _Ida._ Yet would I, might I choose, be honest-poor; For she that sits at fortune's feet a-low Is sure she shall not taste a further woe; But those that prank on top of fortune's ball Still fear a change, and, fearing, catch a fall. _Count. of A._ Tut, foolish maid, each one contemneth need. _Ida._ Good reason why, they know not good indeed. _Count. of A._ Many, marry, then, on whom distress doth lour. _Ida._ Yes, they that virtue deem an honest dower. Madam, by right this world I may compare Unto my work, wherein with heedful care The heavenly workman plants with curious hand-- As I with needle draw--each thing on land Even as he list: some men like to the rose Are fashion'd fresh; some in their stalks do close, And, born, do sudden die; some are but weeds, And yet from them a secret good proceeds: I with my needle, if I please, may blot The fairest rose within my cambric plot; God with a beck can change each worldly thing, The poor to earth, the beggar to the king. What, then, hath man wherein he well may boast, Since by a beck he lives, a lour[262] is lost? _Count. of A._ Peace, Ida, here are strangers near at hand. _Enter_ EUSTACE _with letters._