_Iag._ I scorne to answer thee. The King shall know, It was his chance vpon that haplesse houre, To passe that way, conducted by his gard, Towards his banishment; where he beheld The wofull obiect of the Princesse head: There might you see loue, pittie, rage, despaire, Acting together in their seuerall shapes; That it was hard to iudge, which of all those Were most predominant. At last, despaire Became sole Monarke of his passions, Which drew him to this error: Hauing got Leaue of his gard to celebrate his vowes, Vnto that precious relique of his Saint, Where hauing breath’d a mournfull Elegie, After a thousand sighs, ten thousand grones, Still crying out, _Leonida_, my loue! Then, as his death were limited by hers, He sacrifiz’d his life vnto her loue: For there (vnluckily) he slew himselfe. _Sfor._ The King’s displeas’d, my Lord. _Iag._ No matter: I’me glad I touch’d his conscience To the quicke. Did you not see How my relation chang’d his countenance, As if my words ingendred in his brest Some new-bred passions? _Sfor._ Yes, and did obserue How fearefully he gaz’d vpon vs all: _Enter Queene._ Pray heauen it proue not ominous. _Iag._ The Queene! _Quee._ Where is this King? this King? this tyrant? He That would be cald The iust and righteous King, When in his actions he is most vniust; Beyond example, cruell, tyrannous? Where is my daughter? Where’s _Leonida_? Where is _Lusippus_ too, my first borne hope? And where is deare _Lorenzo_? dead? all dead? And would to God I were intomb’d with them, Emptie of substance. Curse of Soueraigntie, That feed’st thy fancie with deluding hopes Of fickle shadowes; promising to one, Eternitie of fame; and vnto all, To be accounted wise and vertuous, Obseruing but your Lawes and iust decrees; That vnder shew of being mercifull, Art most vnkind, and cruell: nay, ’tis true. Goe where thou wilt, still will I follow thee, And with my sad laments still beat thy eares, Till all the world of thy iustice heares. _Ex. King, and Qu._ _Nic._ This Physick works too strongly, and may proue a deadly potion. _Sforza_, good my Lord, if any anger be ’twixt you and I, let it lye buried now; and let’s deuise some pastime to suppresse this heauinesse. A melancholy King makes a sad Court. _Iag._ I neuer heard him speake so carefully Of the Kings welfare. I, with all my heart. _Sfor._ Who’le vndertake this charge? _Nic._ I will, my Lord: Let the deuice be mine. _Iag._ I’le get the Amazon to ioyne with you: Her rare inuention, and experience too, In forraine Countries may auaile you much, In some new quaint conceit. _Nic._ Doe, good my Lord: I’de ha’t assoone presented as I could. _Iag._ Tonight, if it be possible: farewell. I must goe looke her out. _Nic._ Ha, ha, ha, ha. So by this meanes, I shall expresse may selfe Studious and carefull.