_K. of Scots._ Tut, speak whatso thou wilt, I pardon thee. _Ateu._ How kind a word, how courteous is his grace! Who would not die to succour such a king? My liege, this lovely maid of modest mind Could well incline to love, but that she fears Fair Dorothea's power: your grace doth know, Your wedlock is a mighty let to love. Were Ida sure to be your wedded wife, That then the twig would bow you might command: Ladies love presents, pomp, and high estate. _K. of Scots._ Ah, Ateukin, how should we displace this let? _Ateu._ Tut, mighty prince,--O, that I might be whist![269] _K. of Scots._ Why dalliest thou? _Ateu._ I will not move my prince! I will prefer his safety 'fore my life. Hear me, O king! 'tis Dorothea's death Must do you good. _K. of Scots._ What, murder of my queen! Yet, to enjoy my love, what is my queen? O, but my vow and promise to my queen! Ay, but my hope to gain a fairer queen: With how contrarious thoughts am I withdrawn! Why linger I 'twixt hope and doubtful fear? If Dorothea die, will Ida love? _Ateu._ She will, my lord. _K. of Scots._ Then let her die: devise, advise the means; All likes me well that lends me hope in love. _Ateu._ What, will your grace consent? Then let me work. There's here in court a Frenchman, Jaques call'd A fit performer of our enterprise, Whom I by gifts and promise will corrupt To slay the queen, so that your grace will seal A warrant for the man, to save his life. _K. of Scots._ Naught shall he want; write thou, and I will sign: And, gentle Gnatho, if my Ida yield, Thou shalt have what thou wilt; I'll give thee straight A barony, an earldom, for reward. _Ateu._ Frolic, young king, the lass shall be your own: I'll make her blithe and wanton by my wit. [_Exeunt_. CHORUS[270] _Enter_ BOHAN _and_ OBERON. _Boh._ So, Oberon, now it begins to work in kind. The ancient lords by leaving him alone, Disliking of his humours and despite, Let him run headlong, till his flatterers, Soliciting his thoughts of lawless lust With vile persuasions and alluring words, Make him make way by murder to his will. Judge, fairy king, hast heard a greater ill? _Ober._ Nor seen more virtue in a country maid. I tell thee, Bohan, it doth make me sorry, To think the deeds the king means to perform. _Boh._ To change that humour, stand and see the rest: I trow my son Slipper will show's a jest. _Enter_ SLIPPER _with a companion_, boy _or_ wench, _dancing a hornpipe, and dance out again._ Now after this beguiling of our thoughts, And changing them from sad to better glee, Let's to our cell, and sit and see the rest, For, I believe, this jig will prove no jest. [_Exeunt_. ACT THE THIRD SCENE I.--_Edinburgh._ _Enter_ SLIPPER _one way, and_ SIR BARTRAM _another way._