_ORSON enters, pleased at the sight, goes from one table to the other--the KING orders him wine, he imitates their manner of drinking--takes another cup, is going to drink, VALENTINE tells him to be careful, pointing to his head, indicating that wine will intoxicate him, ORSON does not understand him--a Servant entering with wine, he forces it from him, and goes off with it--the Princess's Ladies enter, much alarmed at missing her, and bring with them her cloathes._ _VALENTINE calls for HUGO, who informs him that the Princess bribed him to let her have VALENTINE's armour to go to the Green Knight's camp--VALENTINE, goes off, followed by the KING, &c. in search of EGLANTINE.--ORSON re-enters, and from the effects of the wine, appears half intoxicated--HUGO sits down at the table, pours out a goblet of wine, when ORSON suddenly takes it out of his hand, shewing him, by pointing to his head, in VALENTINE's manner, it is not good for him; he misses VALENTINE, runs anxiously about, seems to enquire of HUGO, looks under the tables, and in every place, and at last tears his hair, stamps, and throws himself on the ground--HUGO, alarmed, runs off.--ORSON rises, once more looks about for VALENTINE, and not seeing him, goes distractedly off, leaping over the tables, and overturning all before him._ SCENE IV.-- _A Wood._ (Richards.) _Enter AGATHA, dressed as a_ Page. AGATHA. There goes my lady, drest and arm'd so like Sir Valentine, that if he were to meet her, he'd think it were a second self. She bade me follow at some distance to avoid suspicion, and mislead any who might pursue her--I fear she will prove but a weak defender of the poor Lady Florimonda, who, if Sir Valentine do not quickly overtake us, must, of force, be married to the pagan sorcerer. _ROMANCE._ 'Tis far away o'er yonder plains, A cruel pagan tyrant reigns, And holds a christian maid in chains, Ah, well-a-day, poor lady! II. And ev'ry day some gallant knight, Who strives to win this lady's right, Is by the pagan slain in fight. Ah, well-a-day, poor lady! III. And ere the sun forsake the sky, Unless more powerful aid is nigh, The pagan she must _wed_, or _die_. Ah, well-a-day, poor lady! IV. And, now, fair Eglantine is gone, By jealous pangs her bosom torn, To save her love, or die forlorn. Ah, well-a-day, poor lady! [_Exit._ _Enter HENRY and HAUFRAY, from opposite sides._ HENRY. This way, my friend, our foe is in our power. Yonder he walks in _armour_, but _alone_. HAUFRAY. Nay, Henry, this way lies the road--Unarm'd he comes perhaps to meet the princess. HENRY. Your jealousy has blinded you. I say with swiftest pace he there eludes our vengeance, close followed by his page. HAUFRAY.