K. of S. A little flattery more were but too much,
Villaine what art thou that thus darest interrupt a Princes secrets.
Ateu. Dread King, thy vassall is a man of Art,
Who knowes by constellation of the stars,
By oppositions and by drie aspects,
The things are past, and those that are to come.
K. of S. But where’s thy warrant to approach my presence?
Ateu. My zeale and ruth to see your graces wrong,
Makes me lament, I did detract so long. 320
K. of S. If thou knowst thoughts, tell me what mean I now?
Ateu. Ile calculate the cause of those your highnesse smiles,
And tell your thoughts.
K. of S. But least thou spend thy time in idlenesse,
And misse the matter that my mind aimes at,
Tell me what star was opposite when that was thought?
He strikes him on the eare.
Ateu. Tis inconuenient mightie Potentate,
Whose lookes resembles Ioue in Maiestie,
To scorne the sooth of science with contempt, 330
I see in those imperiall lookes of yours,
The whole discourse of loue, Saturn combust,
With direfull lookes at your natiuitie:
Beheld faire Venns in her siluer orbe,
I know by certaine exiomies I haue read,
Your graces griefs, & further can expresse her name,
That holds you thus in fancies bands.
K. of S. Thou talkest wonders.