_Ateu._ Faire comely Nimph, the beautie of your face, Sufficient to bewitch the heauenly powers, Hath wrought so much in him, that now of late Hee findes himselfe made captiue vnto loue, And though his power and Maiestie requires, A straight commaund before an humble sute, Yet hee his mightinesse doth so abase, As to intreat your fauour honest maid. 860 _Ida._ Is hee not married sir vnto our Queen? _Ateu._ Hee is. _Ida._ And are not they by God accurst, That seuer them whom hee hath knit in one? _Ateu._ They bee: what then? wee seeke not to displace The Princesse from her seate, but since by loue The king is made your owne, shee is resolude In priuate to accept your dalliance, In spight of warre, watch, or worldly eye. _Ida._ Oh how hee talkes as if hee should not die, 870 As if that God in iustice once could winke, Vpon that fault I am a sham’d to thinke. _Ateu._ Tut Mistresse, man at first was born to erre, Women are all not formed to bee Saints: Tis impious for to kill our natiue king, Whom by a little fauour wee may saue. _Ida._ Better then liue vnchaste, to liue in graue. _Ateu._ Hee shall erect your state & wed you well. _Ida._ But can his warrant keep my soule from hell? _Ateu._ He will inforce, if you resist his sute. 880 _Id._ What tho, the world may shame to him account To bee a king of men and worldly pelfe. _Ateu._ Yet hath to power no rule and guide himselfe, I know you gentle Ladie and the care, Both of your honour and his graces health, Makes me confused in this daungerous state. _Ida._ So counsell him, but sooth thou not his sinne, Tis vaine alurement that doth make him loue, I shame to heare, bee you a shamde to mooue. _Count._ I see my daughter growes impatient, 890 I feare me hee pretends some bad intent. _Ateu._ Will you dispise the king, & scorne him so? _Ida._ In all alleageance I will serue his grace, But not in lust, oh how I blush to name it? _Ateu._ An endlesse worke is this, how should I frame it? _They discourse priuately._ _Slip._ Oh Mistresse may I turne a word vpon you. _Ateu._ Friend what wilt thou? _Slip._ Oh what a happie Gentlewoman bee you trulie, the world reports this of you Mistresse, that a man can no sooner 900 come to your house, but the Butler comes with a blacke Iack and sayes welcome friend, heeres a cup of the best for you, verilie Mistresse you are said to haue the best Ale in al _Scotland_. _Count._ Sirrha go fetch him drinke, how likest thou this?