Valerius. [_Sings_.] When Tarquin first in court began, And was approvèd king, Some men for sudden joy ’gan weep, But I for sorrow sing. Scevola. Ha, ha! how long has my Valerius Put on this strain of mirth, or what’s the cause? Valerius. [_Sings_.] Let humour change and spare not; Since Tarquin’s proud, I care not; His fair words so bewitchèd my delight, That I doted on his sight: Now he is changed, cruel thoughts embracing, And my deserts disgracing. Horatius. Upon my life he’s either mad or love-sick. Oh, can Valerius, but so late a statesman, Of whom the public weal deserved so well, Tune out his age in songs and canzonets, Whose voice should thunder counsel in the ears Of Tarquin and proud Tullia? Think, Valerius, What that proud woman Tullia is; ’twill put thee Quite out of tune. Valerius. [_Sings_.] Now what is love I will thee tell: It is the fountain and the well, Where pleasure and repentance dwell; It is perhaps the sansing[5.18] bell, That rings all in to heaven or hell; And this is love, and this is love, as I hear tell. Now what is love I will you show: A thing that creeps and cannot go, A prize that passeth to and fro, A thing for me, a thing for moe,[5.19] And he that proves shall find it so; And this is love, and this is love, sweet friend, I trow. Lucretius. Valerius, I shall quickly change thy cheer, And make thy passionate eyes lament with mine. Think how that worthy prince, our kinsman king, Was butchered in the marble Capitol: Shall Servius Tullius unregarded die Alone of thee, whom all the Roman ladies, Even yet with tear-swollen eyes, and sorrowful souls, Compassionate, as well he merited? To these lamenting dames what canst thou sing, Whose grief through all the Roman temples ring? Valerius. [_Sings_.] Lament, ladies, lament! Lament the Roman land! The king is fra thee hent Was doughty on his hand. We’ll gang into the kirk, His dead corpse we’ll embrace, And when we see him dead, We aye will cry alas!--Fa la! Horatius. This music mads me; I all mirth despise. Lucretius. To hear him sing draws rivers from mine eyes. Scevola. It pleaseth me; for since the court is harsh, And looks askance on soldiers, let’s be merry, Court ladies, sing, drink, dance, and every man Get him a mistress, coach it in the country, And taste the sweets of it. What thinks Valerius Of Scevola’s last counsel? Valerius. [_Sings_.] Why, since we soldiers cannot prove, And grief it is to us therefore, Let every man get him a love, To trim her well, and fight no more; That we may taste of lovers’ bliss, Be merry and blithe, embrace and kiss, That ladies may say, Some more of this; That ladies may say, Some more of this.