Robert Greene: [Six Plays]

by Robert Greene

ACT THE FIRST

SCENE I.—The Court at Edinburgh.

Enter the King of England, the King of Scots, Queen Dorothea, the Countess of Arran, Ida, and Lords; with them Ateukin, aloof.

K. of Scots. Brother of England, since our neighbouring lands
And near alliance do invite our loves,
The more I think upon our last accord,
The more I grieve your sudden parting hence.
First, laws of friendship did confirm our peace;
Now both the seal of faith and marriage-bed,
The name of father, and the style of friend;
These force in me affection full confirm'd;
So that I grieve—and this my hearty grief
The heavens record, the world may witness well—
To lose your presence, who are now to me
A father, brother, and a vowèd friend.
K. of Eng. Link all these lovely styles, good king, in one:
And since thy grief exceeds in my depart,
I leave my Dorothea to enjoy
Thy whole compact [of] loves and plighted vows.
Brother of Scotland, this is my joy, my life,
Her father's honour, and her country's hope,
Her mother's comfort, and her husband's bliss:
I tell thee, king, in loving of my Doll,
Thou bind'st her father's heart, and all his friends,
In bands of love that death cannot dissolve.
K. of Scots. Nor can her father love her like to me,
My life's light, and the comfort of my soul.—
Fair Dorothea, that wast England's pride,
Welcome to Scotland; and, in sign of love,
Lo, I invest thee with the Scottish crown.—
Nobles and ladies, stoop unto your queen,
And trumpets sound, that heralds may proclaim
Fair Dorothea peerless Queen of Scots.
All. Long live and prosper our fair Queen of Scots!
[They install and crown her.
Q. Dor. Thanks to the King of Kings for my dignity,
Thanks to my father, that provides so carefully;
Thanks to my lord and husband for this honour;
And thanks to all that love their king and me.
All. Long live fair Dorothea, our true queen!
K. of Eng. Long shine the sun of Scotland in her pride,
Her father's comfort, and fair Scotland's bride!
But, Dorothea, since I must depart,
And leave thee from thy tender mother's charge,
Let me advise my lovely daughter first
What best befits her in a foreign land.
Live, Doll, for many eyes shall look on thee
With care of honour and the present state;
For she that steps to height of majesty
Is even the mark whereat the enemy aims:
Thy virtues shall be construèd to vice,
Thine affable discourse to abject mind;
If coy, detracting tongues will call thee proud:
Be therefore wary in this slippery state;
Honour thy husband, love him as thy life,
Make choice of friends—as eagles of their young—
Who soothe no vice, who flatter not for gain,
But love such friends as do the truth maintain.
Think on these lessons when thou art alone,
And thou shalt live in health when I am gone.
Q. Dor. I will engrave these precepts in my heart:
And as the wind with calmness wooes you hence,
Even so I wish the heavens, in all mishaps,
May bless my father with continual grace.
K. of Eng. Then, son, farewell:
The favouring winds invite us to depart.
Long circumstance in taking princely leaves
Is more officious than convenient.
Brother of Scotland, love me in my child:
You greet me well, if so you will her good.
K. of Scots. Then, lovely Doll, and all that favour me,
Attend to see our English friends at sea:
Let all their charge depend upon my purse:
They are our neighbours, by whose kind accord
We dare attempt the proudest potentate.
Only, fair countess, and your daughter, stay;
With you I have some other thing to say.
[Exeunt, in all royalty, the King of England, Queen Dorothea and Lords.
[Aside]. So let them triumph that have cause to joy:
But, wretched king, thy nuptial knot is death,
Thy bride the breeder of thy country's ill;
For thy false heart dissenting from thy hand,
Misled by love, hath made another choice,—
Another choice, even when thou vow'd'st thy soul
To Dorothea, England's choicest pride.
O, then thy wandering eyes bewitch'd thy heart!
Even in the chapel did thy fancy change,
When, perjur'd man, though fair Doll had thy hand,
The Scottish Ida's beauty stale thy heart:
Yet fear and love have tied thy ready tongue
From babbling forth the passions of thy mind,
'Less fearful silence have in subtle looks
Bewray'd the treason of my new-vow'd love.
Be fair and lovely, Doll; but here's the prize,
That lodgeth here, and enter'd through mine eyes:
Yet, howso'er I love, I must be wise.—
Now, lovely countess, what reward or grace
May I employ on you for this your zeal,
And humble honours, done us in our court,
In entertainment of the English king?
Count. of A. It was of duty, prince, that I have done;
And what in favour may content me most,
Is, that it please your grace to give me leave
For to return unto my country-home.
K. of Scots. But, lovely Ida, is your mind the same?
Ida. I count of court, my lord, as wise men do,
'Tis fit for those that know what 'longs thereto:
Each person to his place; the wise to art,
The cobbler to his clout, the swain to cart.
K. of Scots. But, Ida, you are fair, and beauty shines,
And seemeth best, where pomp her pride refines.
Ida. If beauty, as I know there's none in me,
Were sworn my love, and I his life should be,
The farther from the court I were remov'd,
The more, I think, of heaven I were belov'd.
K. of Scots. And why?
Ida. Because the court is counted Venus' net,
Where gifts and vows for stales[250] are often set:
None, be she chaste as Vesta, but shall meet
A curious tongue to charm her ears with sweet.
K. of Scots. Why, Ida, then I see you set at naught
The force of love.
Ida. In sooth, this is my thought,
Most gracious king,—that they that little prove,
Are mickle blest, from bitter sweets of love.
And weel I wot, I heard a shepherd sing,
That, like a bee, love hath a little sting:
He lurks in flowers, he percheth on the trees,
He on kings' pillows bends his pretty knees;
The boy is blind, but when he will not spy,
He hath a leaden foot and wings to fly:
Beshrew me yet, for all these strange effects,
If I would like the lad that so infects.
K. of Scots. [aside].
Rare wit, fair face, what heart could more desire?
But Doll is fair and doth concern thee near:
Let Doll be fair, she is won; but I must woo
And win fair Ida; there's some choice in two.—
But, Ida, thou art coy.
Ida. And why, dread king?
K. of Scots. In that you will dispraise so sweet a thing
As love. Had I my wish—
Ida. What then?
K. of Scots. Then would I place
His arrow here, his beauty in that face.
Ida. And were Apollo mov'd and rul'd by me,
His wisdom should be yours, and mine his tree.
K. of Scots. But here returns our train.

Re-enter Queen Dorothea and Lords.

Welcome, fair Doll!
How fares our father? is he shipp'd and gone?
Q. Dor. My royal father is both shipp'd and gone:
God and fair winds direct him to his home!
K. of Scots. Amen, say I.—[Aside]. Would thou wert with him too!
Then might I have a fitter time to woo.—
But, countess, you would be gone, therefore, farewell,—
Yet, Ida, if thou wilt, stay thou behind
To accompany my queen:
But if thou like the pleasures of the court,—
[Aside]. Or if she lik'd me, though she left the court,—
What should I say? I know not what to say.—
You may depart:—and you, my courteous queen,
Leave me a space; I have a weighty cause
To think upon:—[Aside]. Ida, it nips me near;
It came from thence, I feel it burning here.
[Exeunt all except the King of Scots and Ateukin.
Now am I free from sight of common eye,
Where to myself I may disclose the grief
That hath too great a part in mine affects.
Ateu. [aside]. And now is my time by wiles and words to rise,
Greater than those that think themselves more wise.
K. of Scots. And first, fond king, thy honour doth engrave
Upon thy brows the drift of thy disgrace.
Thy new-vow'd love, in sight of God and men,
Links thee to Dorothea during life;
For who more fair and virtuous than thy wife?
Deceitful murderer of a quiet mind,
Fond love, vile lust, that thus misleads us men
To vow our faiths, and fall to sin again!
But kings stoop not to every common thought:
Ida is fair and wise, fit for a king;
And for fair Ida will I hazard life,
Venture my kingdom, country, and my crown:
Such fire hath love to burn a kingdom down.
Say Doll dislikes that I estrange my love:
Am I obedient to a woman's look?
Nay, say her father frown when he shall hear
That I do hold fair Ida's love so dear:
Let father frown and fret, and fret and die,
Nor earth nor heaven shall part my love and I.—
Yea, they shall part us, but we first must meet,
And woo and win, and yet the world not see't.—
Yea, there's the wound, and wounded with that thought,
So let me die, for all my drift is naught!
Ateu. [coming forward]. Most gracious and imperial majesty,—
[Aside]. A little flattery more were but too much.
K. of Scots. Villain, what art thou
That thus dar'st interrupt a prince's secrets?
Ateu. Dread king, thy vassal is a man of art,
Who knows, by constellation of the stars,
By oppositions and by dire aspécts,
The things are past and those that are to come.
K. of Scots. But where's thy warrant to approach my presence?
Ateu. My zeal, and ruth to see your grace's wrong,
Make me lament I did detract[251] so long.
K. of Scots. If thou know'st thoughts, tell me, what mean I now?
Ateu. I'll calculate the cause
Of those your highness' smiles, and tell your thoughts.
K. of Scots. But lest thou spend thy time in idleness,
And miss the matter that my mind aims at,
Tell me: what star was opposite when that was thought?
[Strikes him on the ear.
Ateu. 'Tis inconvenient, mighty potentate,
Whose looks resemble Jove in majesty,
To scorn the sooth of science with contempt.
I see in those imperial looks of yours
The whole discourse of love: Saturn combust,
With direful looks, at your nativity
Beheld fair Venus in her silver orb:
I know, by certain axioms I have read,
Your grace's griefs, and further can express
Her name that holds you thus in fancy's bands.
K. of Scots. Thou talkest wonders.
Ateu. Naught but truth, O king.
'Tis Ida is the mistress of your heart,
Whose youth must take impression of affects;
For tender twigs will bow, and milder minds
Will yield to fancy, be they follow'd well.
K. of Scots. What god art thou, compos'd in human shape,
Or bold Trophonius, to decide our doubts?
How know'st thou this?
Ateu. Even as I know the means
To work your grace's freedom and your love.
Had I the mind, as many courtiers have,
To creep into your bosom for your coin,
And beg rewards for every cap and knee,
I then would say, "If that your grace would give
This lease, this manor, or this patent seal'd,
For this or that I would effect your love:"
But Ateukin is no parasite, O prince.
I know your grace knows scholars are but poor;
And therefore, as I blush to beg a fee,
Your mightiness is so magnificent,
You cannot choose but cast some gift apart,
To ease my bashful need that cannot beg.
As for your love, O, might I be employ'd,
How faithfully would Ateukin compass it!
But princes rather trust a smoothing tongue
Than men of art that can accept the time.
K. of Scots. Ateukin,—if so thy name, for so thou say'st,—
Thine art appears in entrance of my love;
And, since I deem thy wisdom match'd with truth,
I will exalt thee; and thyself alone
Shalt be the agent to dissolve my grief.
Sooth is, I love, and Ida is my love;
But my new marriage nips me near, Ateukin,
For Dorothea may not brook th' abuse.
Ateu. These lets are but as motes against the sun,
Yet not so great; like dust before the wind,
Yet not so light. Tut, pacify your grace:
You have the sword and sceptre in your hand;
You are the king, the state depends on you;
Your will is law. Say that the case were mine:
Were she my sister whom your highness loves,
She should consent, for that our lives, our goods,
Depend on you; and if your queen repine,
Although my nature cannot brook of blood,
And scholars grieve to hear of murderous deeds,—
But if the lamb should let the lion's way,
By my advice the lamb should lose her life.
Thus am I bold to speak unto your grace,
Who am too base to kiss your royal feet;
For I am poor, nor have I land nor rent,
Nor countenance here in court; but for my love,
Your grace shall find none such within the realm.
K. of Scots. Wilt thou effect my love? shall she be mine?
Ateu. I'll gather moly, crocus, and the herbs
That heal the wounds of body and the mind;
I'll set out charms and spells; naught else shall be left
To tame the wanton if she shall rebel:
Give me but tokens of your highness' trust.
K. of Scots. Thou shalt have gold, honour, and wealth enough;
Win my love, and I will make thee great.
Ateu. These words do make me rich, most noble prince;
I am more proud of them than any wealth.
Did not your grace suppose I flatter you,
Believe me, I would boldly publish this;—
Was never eye that saw a sweeter face,
Nor never ear that heard a deeper wit:
O God, how I am ravish'd in your worth!
K. of Scots. Ateukin, follow me; love must have ease.
Ateu. I'll kiss your highness' feet; march when you please.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Public Place in Edinburgh.

Enter Slipper, Nano, and Andrew, with their bills, ready written, in their hands.

And. Stand back, sir; mine shall stand highest.

Slip. Come under mine arm, sir, or get a footstool; or else, by the light of the moon, I must come to it.

Nano. Agree, my masters; every man to his height: though I stand lowest, I hope to get the best master.

And. Ere I will stoop to a thistle, I will change turns; as good luck comes on the right hand as the left: here's for me.

Slip. And me.

Nano. And mine. [They set up their bills.

And. But tell me, fellows, till better occasion come, do you seek masters?

Slip. Nano. We do.

And. But what can you do worthy preferment?

Nano. Marry, I can smell a knave from a rat.

Slip. And I can lick a dish before a cat.

And. And I can find two fools unsought,—how like you that?

But, in earnest now, tell me: of what trades are you two?

Slip. How mean you that, sir, of what trade? Marry, I'll tell you, I have many trades: the honest trade when I needs must; the filching trade when time serves; the cozening trade as I find occasion. And I have more qualities: I cannot abide a full cup unkissed, a fat capon uncarved, a full purse unpicked, nor a fool to prove a justice as you do.

And. Why, sot, why callest thou me fool?

Nano. For examining wiser than thyself.

And. So doth many more than I in Scotland.

Nano. Yea, those are such as have more authority than wit, and more wealth than honesty.

Slip. This is my little brother with the great wit; 'ware him!—But what canst thou do, tell me, that art so inquisitive of us?

And. Anything that concerns a gentleman to do, that can I do.

Slip. So you are of the gentle trade?

And. True.

Slip. Then, gentle sir, leave us to ourselves, for here comes one as if he would lack a servant ere he went. [Andrew stands aside.

Enter Ateukin.

Ateu. Why, so, Ateukin, this becomes thee best:
Wealth, honour, ease, and angels in thy chest.
Now may I say, as many often sing,
"No fishing to[252] the sea, nor service to a king."
Unto this high promotion doth belong
Means to be talk'd of in the thickest throng.
And first, to fit the humours of my lord,
Sweet lays and lines of love I must record;
And such sweet lines and love-lays I'll indite,
As men may wish for, and my liege delight:
And next, a train of gallants at my heels,
That men may say, the world doth run on wheels;
For men of art, that rise by indirection
To honour and the favour of their king,
Must use all means to save what they have got,
And win their favours whom they never knew.
If any frown to see my fortunes such,
A man must bear a little,—not too much!
But, in good time!—these bills portend, I think,
That some good fellows do for service seek. [Reads.
If any gentleman, spiritual or temporal, will entertain out of his service, a young stripling of the age of thirty years, that can sleep with the soundest, eat with the hungriest, work with the sickest, lie with the loudest, face with the proudest, etc., that can wait in a gentleman's chamber when his master is a mile off, keep his stable when 'tis empty, and his purse when 'tis full, and hath many qualities worse than all these, let him write his name and go his way, and attendance shall be given.
By my faith, a good servant: which is he?

Slip. Truly, sir, that am I.

Ateu. And why dost thou write such a bill? Are all these qualities in thee?

Slip. O Lord, ay, sir, and a great many more, some better, some worse, some richer, some poorer. Why, sir, do you look so? do they not please you?

Ateu. Truly, no, for they are naught, and so art thou: if thou hast no better qualities, stand by.

Slip. O, sir, I tell the worst first; but, an you lack a man, I am for you: I'll tell you the best qualities I have.

Ateu. Be brief, then.

Slip. If you need me in your chamber, I can keep the door at a whistle; in your kitchen, turn the spit, and lick the pan, and make the fire burn; but if in the stable,—

Ateu. Yea, there would I use thee.

Slip. Why, there you kill me, there am I! and turn me to a horse and a wench, and I have no peer.

Ateu. Art thou so good in keeping a horse? I pray thee, tell me how many good qualities hath a horse.

Slip. Why, so, sir: a horse hath two properties of a man, that is, a proud heart, and a hardy stomach; four properties of a lion, a broad breast, a stiff docket,—hold your nose, master,—a wild countenance, and four good legs; nine properties of a fox, nine of a hare, nine of an ass, and ten of a woman.

Ateu. A woman! why, what properties of a woman hath a horse?

Slip. O, master, know you not that? Draw your tables,[253] and write what wise I speak. First, a merry countenance; second, a soft pace; third, a broad forehead; fourth, broad buttocks; fifth, hard of ward; sixth, easy to leap upon; seventh, good at long journey; eighth, moving under a man; ninth, always busy with the mouth; tenth, ever chewing on the bridle.

Ateu. Thou art a man for me: what's thy name?

Slip. An ancient name, sir, belonging to the chamber and the night-gown: guess you that.

Ateu. What's that? Slipper?

Slip. By my faith, well guessed; and so 'tis indeed. You'll be my master?

Ateu. I mean so.

Slip. Read this first.

Ateu. [reads]. Pleaseth it any gentleman to entertain a servant of more wit than stature, let them subscribe, and attendance shall be given.
What of this?

Slip. He is my brother, sir; and we two were born together, must serve together, and will die together, though we be both hanged.

Ateu. What's thy name?

Nano. Nano.

Ateu. The etymology of which word is "a dwarf." Are not thou the old stoic's son that dwells in his tomb?

Slip. Nano. We are.

Ateu. Thou art welcome to me. Wilt thou give thyself wholly to be at my disposition?

Nano. In all humility I submit myself.

Ateu. Then will I deck thee princely, instruct thee courtly, and present thee to the queen as my gift. Art thou content?

Nano. Yes, and thank your honour too.

Slip. Then welcome, brother, and follow now.

And. [coming forward]. May it please your honour to abase your eye so low as to look either on my bill or myself?

Ateu. What are you?

And. By birth a gentleman; in profession a scholar; and one that knew your honour in Edinburgh, before your worthiness called you to this reputation: by me, Andrew Snoord.

Ateu. Andrew, I remember thee; follow me, and we will confer further; for my weighty affairs for the king command me to be brief at this time.—Come on, Nano.—Slipper, follow. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—Sir Bartram's Castle.

Enter Sir Bartram, with Eustace, and others, booted.

Sir Bar. But tell me, lovely Eustace, as thou lov'st me,
Among the many pleasures we have pass'd,
Which is the rifest in thy memory,
To draw thee over to thine ancient friend?
Eust. What makes Sir Bartram thus inquisitive?
Tell me, good knight, am I welcome or no?
Sir Bar. By sweet Saint Andrew and may sale[254] I swear,
As welcome is my honest Dick to me
As morning's sun, or as the watery moon
In merkest night, when we the borders track.
I tell thee, Dick, thy sight hath clear'd my thoughts
Of many baneful troubles that there woon'd:[255]
Welcome to Sir Bartram as his life!
Tell me, bonny Dick: hast got a wife?
Eust. A wife! God shield, Sir Bartram, that were ill,
To leave my wife and wander thus astray:
But time and good advice, ere many years,
May chance to make my fancy bend that way.
What news in Scotland? therefore came I hither,
To see your country and to chat together.
Sir Bar. Why, man, our country's blithe, our king is well,
Our queen so-so, the nobles well and worse,
And weel are they that are about the king,
But better are the country gentlemen:
And I may tell thee, Eustace, in our lives
We old men never saw so wondrous change.
But leave this trattle, and tell me what news
In lovely England with our honest friends.
Eust. The king, the court, and all our noble friends
Are well; and God in mercy keep them so!
The northern lords and ladies hereabouts,
That know I came to see your queen and court,
Commend them to my honest friend Sir Bartram,—
And many others that I have not seen.
Among the rest, the Countess Elinor,
From Carlisle, where we merry oft have been,
Greets well my lord, and hath directed me,
By message, this fair lady's face to see.
[Shows a portrait.
Sir Bar. I tell thee, Eustace, 'less mine old eyes daze,
This is our Scottish moon and evening's pride;
This is the blemish of your English bride.
Who sail by her, are sure of wind at will;
Her face is dangerous, her sight is ill:
And yet, in sooth, sweet Dick, it may be said,
The king hath folly, there's virtue in the maid.
Eust. But knows my friend this portrait? be advis'd.
Sir Bar. Is it not Ida, the Countess of Arran's daughter's?
Eust. So was I told by Elinor of Carlisle:
But tell me, lovely Bartram: is the maid
Evil-inclin'd, misled, or concubine
Unto the king or any other lord?
Sir Bar. Should I be brief and true, than thus, my Dick:
All England's grounds yield not a blither lass,
Nor Europe can surpass her for her gifts
Of virtue, honour, beauty, and the rest:
But our fond king, not knowing sin in lust,
Makes love by endless means and precious gifts;
And men that see it dare not say't, my friend,
But we may wish that it were otherwise.
But I rid thee to view the picture still,
For by the person's sight there hangs some ill.
Eust. O, good Sir Bartram, you suspect I love
(Then were I mad) her whom I never saw.
But, howsoe'er, I fear not enticings:
Desire will give no place unto a king:
I'll see her whom the world admires so much,
That I may say with them, "There lives none such."
Sir Bar. Be Gad, and sall both see and talk with her;
And, when thou'st done, whate'er her beauty be,
I'll warrant thee her virtues may compare
With the proudest she that waits upon your queen.

Enter Servant.

Serv. My lady entreats your worship in to supper.

Sir Bar. Guid, bonny Dick, my wife will tell thee more:
Was never no man in her book before;
Be Gad, she's blithe, fair, lewely,[256] bonny, etc.[257]
[Exeunt.

CHORUS[258]

Enter Bohan and Oberon; to them a round of Fairies, or some pretty dance.

Boh. Be Gad, gramercies, little king, for this;
This sport is better in my exile life
Than ever the deceitful werld could yield.
Ober. I tell thee, Bohan, Oberon is king
Of quiet, pleasure, profit, and content,
Of wealth, of honour, and of all the world;
Tied to no place,—yet all are tied to one.
Live thou this life, exil'd from world and men,
And I will show thee wonders ere we part.
Boh. Then mark my story, and the strange doubts
That follow flatterers, lust, and lawless will,
And then say I have reason to forsake
The world and all that are within the same.
Go shroud us in our harbour, where we'll see
The pride of folly, as it ought to be. [Exeunt.

After the first Act.

1.

Ober. Here see I good fond actions in thy jig
And means to paint the world's inconstant ways:
But turn thine ene, see what I can command.

Enter two battles, strongly fighting, the one led by Semiramis, the other by Stabrobates: she flies, and her crown is taken, and she hurt.

Boh. What gars this din of mirk and baleful harm,
Where every wean is all betaint with blood?
Ober. This shows thee, Bohan, what is worldly pomp:
Semiramis, the proud Assyrian queen,
When Ninus died, did levy in her wars
Three millions of footmen to the fight,
Five hundred thousand horse, of armèd cars
A hundred thousand more; yet in her pride
Was hurt and conquered by Stabrobates.
Then what is pomp?
Boh. I see thou art thine ene,
Thou bonny king, if princes fall from high:
My fall is past, until I fall to die.
Now mark my talk, and prosecute my jig.

2.

Ober. How should these crafts withdraw thee from the world?
But look, my Bohan, pomp allureth.

Enter Cyrus, Kings humbling themselves; himself crowned by Olive Pat[259]: at last dying, laid in a marble tomb with this inscription:

"Whoso thou be that passest [by],—
For I know one shall pass,—know I
Am Cyrus of Persia, and I pray
Leave me not thus like a clod of clay
Wherewith my body is coverèd." [All exeunt.

Enter the King in great pomp, who reads it, and issueth, crying, "Ver meum."

Boh. What meaneth this?
Ober. Cyrus of Persia,
Mighty in life, within a marble grave
Was laid to rot; whom Alexander once
Beheld entomb'd, and weeping did confess,
Nothing in life could 'scape from wretchedness:
Why, then, boast men?
Boh. What reck I, then, of life,
Who make the grave my home, the earth my wife?
But mark me more.

3.

Boh. I can no more; my patience will not warp
To see these flatterers how they scorn and carp.
Ober. Turn but thy head.

Enter four Kings carrying crowns, Ladies presenting odours to Potentate enthroned, who suddenly is slain by his Servants and thrust out; and so they eat. [Exeunt.

Boh. Sike is the werld; but whilk is he I saw?
Ober. Sesostris, who was conqueror of the world,
Slain at the last and stamp'd on by his slaves.
Boh. How blest are peur men, then, that know their graves!
Now mark the sequel of my jig.

(4.)[260]

Boh. An he weel meet ends. The mirk and sable night
Doth leave the peering morn to pry abroad;
Thou nill me stay: hail, then, thou pride of kings!
I ken the world, and wot well worldly things.
Mark thou my jig, in mirkest terms that tells
The loath of sins and where corruption dwells.
Hail me ne mere with shows of guidly sights;
My grave is mine,—that rids me from despites.

(5.)

Boh. Accept my jig, guid king, and let me rest;
The grave with guid men is a gay-built nest.
Ober. The rising sun doth call me hence away;
Thanks for thy jig, I may no longer stay:
But if my train did wake thee from thy rest
So shall they sing thy lullaby to nest. [Exeunt.

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