Ateu. The adament o King will not be filde, 1100
But by it selfe, and beautie that exceeds,
By some exeeding fauour must be wrought,
Ida is coy as yet, and doth repine,
Obiecting marriage, honour, feare, and death,
Shee’s holy, wise, and too precise for me.
K. of S. Are these thy fruites of wits, thy sight in Art?
Thine eloquence? thy pollicie? thy drift?
To mocke thy Prince, thẽ catiue packe thee hence,
And let me die deuoured in my loue.
Ateu. Good Lord how rage gainsayeth reasons power, 1110
My deare, my gracious, and beloued Prince,
The essence of my sute, my God on earth,
Sit downe and rest your selfe, appease your wrath,
Least with a frowne yee wound me to the death:
Oh that I were included in my graue,
That eyther now to saue my Princes life,
Must counsell crueltie, or loose my King.
K. of S. Why sirrha, is there meanes to mooue her minde?
Ateu. Oh should I not offend my royall liege.
K. of S. Tell all, spare nought, so I may gaine my loue. 1120
Ateu. Alasse my soule why art thou torne in twaine,
For feare thou talke a thing that should displease?
K. of S. Tut, speake what so thou wilt I pardon thee.
Ateu. How kinde a word, how courteous is his grace:
Who would not die to succour such a king?
My liege, this louely mayde of modest minde,
Could well incline to loue, but that shee feares,
Faire Dorotheas power, your grace doth know,
Your wedlocke is a mightie let to loue:
Were Ida sure to bee your wedded wife, 1130
That then the twig would bowe, you might command.
Ladies loue, presents pompe and high estate.
K. of S. Ah Ateukin, how shuld we display this let?