_After a solemne seruice, enter from the widdowes house a seruice, _V. ii._ musical songs of marriages, or a maske, or what prettie triumph you list, to them, Ateukin and Gnato._ _Ate._ What means this triumph frend? why are these feasts? _Serui._ Faire _Ida_ sir, was marryed yesterday, Vnto sir _Eustace_, and for that intent, Wee feast and sport it thus to honour them: And if you please, come in and take your part, My Ladie is no niggard of her cheare. _Exit._ _Iaq._ _Monsigneur_, why be you so sadda, _fette bon chere fontre 2060 de ce monde_. _Ateu._ What? was I borne to bee the scorne of kinne? To gather feathers like to a hopper crowe, And loose them in the height of all my pompe: Accursed man now is my credite lost: Where is my vowes I made vnto the king? What shall become of mee, if hee shall heare, That I haue causde him kill a vertuous Queene? And hope in vaine for that which now is lost: Where shall I hide my head? I knowe the heauens 2070 Are iust, and will reuenge: I know my sinnes Exceede compare: should I proceed in this? This _Eustace_ must a man be made away: Oh were I dead, how happy should I bee? _Iaq._ _Est ce donque a tell poynt vostre estat_, faith then adeiu _Scotland_, adeiu _Signior Ateukin_, me will homa to _France_, and no be hanged in a strange country. _Exit._ _Ateu._ Thou doest me good to leaue me thus alone, That galling griefe and I may yoake in one: Oh what are subtile meanes to clime on high? 2080 When euery fall swarmes with exceeding shame? I promist _Idaes_ loue vnto the Prince, But shee is lost, and I am false forsworne: I practis’d _Dorotheas_ haplesse death, And by this practise haue commenst a warre. Oh cursed race of men that traficque guile, And in the end, themselues and kings beguile: A shamde to looke vpon my Prince againe: A shamde of my suggestions and aduise: A shamde of life: a shamde that I haue erde: 2090 Ile hide my selfe, expecting for my shame. Thus God doth worke with those, that purschase fame By flattery, and make their Prince their gaine. _Exeunt._ _Enter the King of England, Lord Percey, Samles, and others._ _V. iii._ _Arius._ Thus farre the English Peeres haue we displayde, Our wauing Ensignes with a happy warre, Thus neerely hath our furious rage reuengde, My daughters death vpon the traiterous Scot, And now before _Dambar_ our campe is pitcht, Which if it yeeld not to our compremise, 2100 The place shall furrow where the pallace stood, And furie shall enuy so high a power, That mercie shall bee bannisht from our swords. _Doug._ What seekes the English King? _Arius._ Scot open those gates, and let me enter in, Submit thy selfe and thine vnto my grace, Or I will put each mothers sonne to death, And lay this Cittie leuell with the ground.