_K. of S._ Enough I am confirmed, _Ateukin_ come, Rid me of loue, and rid me of my greefe, Driue thou the tyrant from this tainted brest, Then may I triumph in the height of ioy, Go to mine _Ida_, tell her that I vowe, To raise her head and make her honours great. Go to mine _Ida_, tell her that her haires, Salbe embollished with orient pearles, And Crownes of Saphyrs compassing her browes, 1880 Shall weare with those sweete beauties of her eyes. Go to mine _Ida_, tell her that my soule Shall keepe her semblance closed in my brest, And I in touching of her milke-white mould, Will thinke me deified in such a grace: I like no stay, go write and I will signe. Reward me _Iaques_, giue him store of Crowne. And sirrha _Andrew_, scout thou here in Court: And bring me tydings if thou canst perceiue The least intent of muttering in my traine, 1890 For either those that wrong thy Lord or thee, Shall suffer death. _Exit_ the King. _Ateu._ How much ô mightie king, Is thy _Ateukin_ bound to honour thee: Bowe thee _Andrew_, bend thine sturdie knees, Seest thou not here thine onely God on earth? _Iaq._ Mes on est mon argent Signior. _Ateu._ Come follow me, his graue I see is made, That thus on suddain he hath left vs here. Come _Iaques_, we wil haue our packet soone dispatcht 1900 And you shall be my mate vpon the way. _Iaq._ Come vous plera Monsieur. _Exeunt._ _Andr._ Was neuer such a world I thinke before, When sinners seeme to daunce within a net, The flatterer and the murtherer they grow big, By hooke or crooke promotion now is sought, In such a world where men are so missed, What should I do? but as the Prouerbe saith, Runne with the Hare, and hunt with the Hound. 1910 To haue two meanes, beseemes a wittie man: Now here in Court I may aspire and clime, By subtiltie for my maisters death. And if that faile, well fare an other drift: I will in secret certaine letters send Vnto the English King, and let him know The order of his daughters ouerthtow. That if my maister crack his credit here, As I am sure long flattery cannot hold, I may haue meanes within the English Court 1920 To scape the scourge that waits on bad aduice. _Exit._ _Chorus._ _V. Chor._ _Enter Bohan and Obiron._ _Ober._ Beleue me bonny Scot, these slrange euents, Are passing pleasing, may they end as well. _Boha._ Else say that _Bohan_ hath a barren skull, If better motions yet then any past, Do not more glee to make the fairie greet, But my small son made prittie hansome shift, To saue the Queene his Mistresse by his speed. 1930 _Obiro._ Yea you Ladie for his sport he made, Shall see when least he hopes, Ile stand his friend, Or else hee capers in a halters end. _Boha._ What hang my son? I trowe not _Obiran_: Ile rather die, then see him woe begon.