_Slip._ Like it Mistresse? why this is quincy quarie pepper de watchet, single goby, of all that euer I tasted: Ile prooue in this Ale and tost, the compasse of the whole world. First this is the earth, it ties in the middle a faire browne tost, a goodly countrie for hungrie teeth to dwell vpon: next this is the sea, a fair poole for a drie tṏgue to fish in: now come I, & seing the 910 world is naught, I diuide it thus, & because the sea cãnot stand without the earth, as _Arist._ saith, I put thẽ both into their first _Chaos_ which is my bellie, and so mistresse you may see your ale is become a myracle. _Eustace._ A merrie mate Madame I promise you. _Count._ Why sigh you sirrah? _Slip._ Trulie Madam, to think vppon the world, which since I denoũced, it keepes such a rumbling in my stomack, that vnlesse your Cooke giue it a counterbuffe with some of your rosted Capons or beefe, I feare me I shal become a loose body, so 920 daintie I thinke, I shall neither hold fast before nor behinde. _Count._ Go take him in and feast this merrie swaine, Syrrha, my cooke is your phisitian. He hath a purge for to disiest the world. _Ateu._ Will you not, _Ida_, grant his highnesse this? _Ida._ As I haue said, in dutie I am his: For other lawlesse lusts, that ill beseeme him, I cannot like, and good I will not deeme him. _Count._ _Ida_ come in, and sir if so you please, Come take a homelie widdowes intertaine. 930 _Ida._ If he haue no great haste, he may come nye. If haste, tho he be gone, I will not crie. _Exeunt._ _Ateu._ I see this labour lost, my hope in vaine, Yet will I trie an other drift againe. _Enter the Bishop of S. Andrewes, Earle Douglas, _II. ii._ Morton, with others, one way, the Queene with Dwarfes an other way._ _B. S. Andr._ Oh wrack of Cṏmon-weale! Oh wretched state! _Doug._ Oh haplesse flocke whereas the guide is blinde? 940 _They all are in a muse._ _Mort._ Oh heedlesse youth, where counsaile is dispis’d. _Dorot._ Come prettie knaue, and prank it by my side, Lets see your best attendaunce out of hande. _Dwarfe._ Madame altho my lims are very small, My heart is good, ile serue you therewithall. _Doro._ How if I were assaild, what couldst thou do? _Dwarf._ Madame call helpe, and boldly fight it to, Altho a Bee be but a litle thing: You know faire Queen, it hath a bitter sting. 950 _Dor._ How couldst thou do me good were I in greefe? _Dwar._ Counsell deare Princes, is a choyce releefe. Tho _Nestor_ wanted force, great was his wit, And tho I am but weake, my words are fit. _S. And._ Like to a ship vpon the Ocean seas, Tost in the doubtfull streame without a helme, Such is a Monarke without good aduice, I am ore heard, cast raine vpon thy tongue, _Andrewes_ beware, reproofe will breed a fear. _Mor._ Good day my Lord. 960