_Sir Bar._ What need these long suggestions in this cause, When every circumstance confirmeth truth? First, let the hidden mercy from above Confirm your grace, since by a wondrous means The practice of your dangers came to light: Next, let the tokens of approvèd truth Govern and stay your thoughts, too much seduc'd, And mark the sooth, and listen the intent. Your highness knows, and these my noble lords Can witness this, that whilst your husband's sire In happy peace possess'd the Scottish crown, I was his sworn attendant here in court; In dangerous fight I never fail'd my lord; And since his death, and this your husband's reign, No labour, duty, have I left undone, To testify my zeal unto the crown. But now my limbs are weak, mine eyes are dim, Mine age unwieldly and unmeet for toil, I came to court, in hope, for service past, To gain some lease to keep me, being old. There found I all was upsy-turvy turn'd, My friends displac'd, the nobles loth to crave: Then sought I to the minion of the king, Ateukin, who, allurèd by a bribe, Assur'd me of the lease for which I sought. But see the craft! when he had got the grant, He wrought to sell it to Sir Silvester, In hope of greater earnings from his hands. In brief, I learn'd his craft, and wrought the means, By one his needy servants for reward, To steal from out his pocket all the briefs; Which he perform'd, and with reward resign'd. Them when I read,--now mark the power of God,-- I found this warrant seal'd among the rest, To kill your grace, whom God long keep alive! Thus, in effect, by wonder are you sav'd: Trifle not, then, but seek a speedy flight; God will conduct your steps, and shield the right. _Q. Dor._ What should I do? ah, poor unhappy queen, Born to endure what fortune can contain! Alas, the deed is too apparent now! But, O mine eyes, were you as bent to hide As my poor heart is forward to forgive, Ah cruel king, my love would thee acquit! O, what avails to be allied and match'd With high estates, that marry but in show? Were I baser born, my mean estate Could warrant me from this impendent harm: But to be great and happy, these are twain. Ah, Ross, what shall I do? how shall I work? _Ross._ With speedy letters to your father send, Who will revenge you and defend your right. _Q. Dor._ As if they kill not me, who with him fight! As if his breast be touch'd, I am not wounded! As if he wail'd, my joys were not confounded! We are one heart, though rent by hate in twain; One soul, one essence doth our weal contain: What, then, can conquer him, that kills not me? _Ross._ If this advice displease, then, madam, flee. _Q. Dor._ Where may I wend or travel without fear? _Ross._ Where not, in changing this attire you wear?