_Q. Dor._ Ah, royal husband, see what God hath wrought! Thy foe is now thy friend.--Good men-at-arms, Do you the like.--These nations if they join, What monarch, with his liege-men, in this world, Dare but encounter you in open field? _K. of Scots._ All wisdom, join'd with godly piety!-- Thou English king, pardon my former youth; And pardon, courteous queen, my great misdeed; And, for assurance of mine after-life, I take religious vows before my God, To honour thee for father, her for wife. _Sir Cuth._ But yet my boons, good princes, are not pass'd. First, English king, I humbly do request, That by your means our princess may unite Her love unto mine aldertruest love,[297] Now you will love, maintain, and help them both. _K. of Eng._ Good Anderson, I grant thee thy request. _Sir Cuth._ But you, my prince, must yield me mickle more. You know your nobles are your chiefest stays, And long time have been banish'd from your court: Embrace and reconcile them to yourself; They are your hands, whereby you ought to work. As for Ateukin and his lewd compeers, That sooth'd you in your sins and youthly pomp, Exile, torment, and punish such as they; For greater vipers never may be found Within a state than such aspiring heads, That reck not how they climb, so that they climb. _K. of Scots._ Guid knight, I grant thy suit.--First I submit, And humbly crave a pardon of your grace:-- Next, courteous queen, I pray thee by thy loves Forgive mine errors past, and pardon me.-- My lords and princes, if I have misdone (As I have wrong'd indeed both you and yours), Hereafter, trust me, you are dear to me. As for Ateukin, whoso finds the man, Let him have martial law, and straight be hang'd, As all his vain abettors now are dead. And Anderson our treasurer shall pay Three thousand marks for friendly recompense. _Nano._ But, princes, whilst you friend it thus in one, Methinks of friendship Nano shall have none. _Q. Dor._ What would my dwarf, that I will not bestow? _Nano._ My boon, fair queen, is this,--that you would go: Although my body is but small and neat, My stomach, after toil, requireth meat: An easy suit, dread princess; will you wend? _K. of Scots._ Art thou a pigmy-born, my pretty friend? _Nano._ Not so, great king, but Nature, when she fram'd me, Was scant of earth, and Nano therefore nam'd me; And, when she saw my body was so small, She gave me wit to make it big withal. _K. of Scots._ Till time when-- _Q. Dor._ Eat, then. _K. of Scots._ My friend, it stands with wit To take repast when stomach serveth it.