_Ateu._ How kinde a word, how courteous is his grace: Who would not die to succour such a king? My liege, this louely mayde of modest minde, Could well incline to loue, but that shee feares, Faire _Dorotheas_ power, your grace doth know, Your wedlocke is a mightie let to loue: Were _Ida_ sure to bee your wedded wife, 1130 That then the twig would bowe, you might command. Ladies loue, presents pompe and high estate. _K. of S._ Ah _Ateukin_, how shuld we display this let? _Ateu._ Tut mightie Prince, oh that I might bee whist. _K. of S._ Why dalliest thou? _Ateu._ I will not mooue my Prince, I will preferre his safetie before my life: Heare mee ô king, tis _Dorotheas_ death, Must do you good. _K. of S._ What, murther of my Queene? 1140 Yet to enioy my loue, what is my Queene? Oh but my vowe and promise to my Queene: I but my hope to gaine a fairer Queene, With how contrarious thoughts am I with drawne? Why linger I twixt hope and doubtfull feare: If _Dorothe_ die, will _Ida_ loue? _Ateu._ Shee will my Lord. _K. of S._ Then let her die. Deuise, aduise the meanes, Al likes me wel that lends me hope in loue. 1150 _Ateu._ What will your grace consent, then let mee worke: Theres heere in Court a Frenchman _Iaques_ calde, A fit performer of our enterprise, Whom I by gifts and promise will corrupt, To slaye the Queene, so that your grace will seale A warrant for the man to saue his life. _K. of S._ Nought shall he want, write thou and I wil signe And gentle _Gnato_, if my _Ida_ yeelde, Thon shalt haue what thou wilt, Ile giue the straight, A Barrony, an Earledome for reward. 1160 _Ateu._ Frolicke young king, the Lasse shall bee your owne, Ile make her blyth and wanton by my wit. _Exennt._ _Enter Bohan with Obiron._ _III. Chor._ 3. _Act._ _Boh._ So _Oberon_, now it beginnes to worke in kinde, The auncient Lords by leauing him aliue, Disliking of his humors and respight, Lets him run headlong till his flatterers, Sweeting his thoughts of lucklesse lust, 1170 With vile perswations and alluring words, Makes him make way by murther to his will, Iudge fairie king, hast heard a greater ill? _Ober._ Nor send more vertue in a countrie mayd, I tell the _Bohan_ it doth make me merrie, To thinke the deeds the king meanes to performe. _Boha._ To change that humour stand and see the rest, I trow my sonne _Slipper_ will shewes a iest. _Enter Slipper with a companion, bog, or wench, dauncing a hornpipe, and daunce out againe._ 1180 _Boha._ Now after this beguiling of our thoughts, And changing them from sad to better glee, Lets to our sell, and sit and see thee rest, For I beleeue this Iig will prooue no iest. _Exeunt._ _Chorus Actus 3. Schena Prima._ _III. i._