_Ateu._ Then hoping on thy truth, I prithee see How kind Ateukin is to forward thee. Hold [_giving money_], take this earnest-penny of my love, And mark my words: the king, by me, requires No slender service, Jaques, at thy hands.-- Thou must by privy practice make away The queen, fair Dorothea, as she sleeps, Or how thou wilt, so she be done to death: Thou shalt not want promotion here in court. _Jaq._ Stabba the woman! _par ma foi, monseigneur_, me thrusta my weapon into her belly, so me may be guard _par le roi_. Me do your service: but me no be hanged _pour_ my labour? _Ateu._ Thou shalt have warrant, Jaques, from the king: None shall outface, gainsay, and wrong my friend. Do not I love thee, Jaques? fear not, then: I tell thee, whoso toucheth thee in aught Shall injure me: I love, I tender thee: Thou art a subject fit to serve his grace. Jaques, I had a written warrant once, But that, by great misfortune, late is lost. Come, wend we to Saint Andrews, where his grace Is now in progress, where he shall assure Thy safety, and confirm thee to the act. _Jaq._ We will attend your nobleness. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III.--_The Palace of the_ KING OF SCOTS. _Enter_ QUEEN DOROTHEA, SIR BARTRAM, NANO, ROSS, Ladies, _and_ Attendants. _Q. Dor._ Thy credit, Bartram, in the Scottish court, Thy reverend years, the strictness of thy vows, All these are means sufficient to persuade; But love, the faithful link of loyal hearts, That hath possession of my constant mind, Exiles all dread, subdueth vain suspect. Methinks no craft should harbour in that breast Where majesty and virtue are install'd: Methinks my beauty should not cause my death. _Sir Bar._ How gladly, sovereign princess, would I err, And bide my shame to save your royal life! 'Tis princely in yourself to think the best, To hope his grace is guiltless of this crime: But if in due prevention you default, How blind are you that were forewarn'd before! _Q. Dor._ Suspicion without cause deserveth blame. _Sir Bar._ Who see, and shun not, harms, deserve the same. Behold the tenor of this traitorous plot. [_Gives warrant._ _Q. Dor._ What should I read? Perhaps he wrote it not. _Sir Bar._ Here is his warrant, under seal and sign, To Jaques, born in France, to murder you. _Q. Dor._ Ah, careless king, would God this were not thine! What though I read? ah, should I think it true? _Ross._ The hand and seal confirm the deed is his. _Q. Dor._ What know I though if now he thinketh this? _Nano._ Madam, Lucretius saith that to repent Is childish, wisdom to prevent. _Q. Dor._ What tho? _Nano._ Then cease your tears, that have dismay'd you, And cross the foe before he have betray'd you.