Nano. The God of heauen reward the curteous knight.
Exeunt. And they beare out Dorothea. 1820
Enter the King of Scots, Iaques, Ateukin, Andrew, Iaques IV. v.
running with his swoord one way, the King with his
traine an other way.
K. of S. Stay Iaques, feare not, sheath thy murthering blade:
Loe here thy King and friends are come abroad,
To saue thee from the terrors of pursuite:
What is she dead?
Iaq. Wee Monsieur, elle is blesse per lake teste, oues les espanles,
I warrant she no trouble you.
Ateu. Oh then my liege, how happie art thou growne, 1830
How fauoured of the heauens, and blest by loue:
Mee thinkes I see faire Ida in thine armes,
Crauing remission for her late attempt,
Mee thinke I see her blushing steale a kisse:
Vniting both your soules by such a sweete,
And you my King suck Nectar from her lips.
Why then delaies your grace to gaine the rest
You long desired? why loose we forward time?
Write, make me spokesman now, vow marriage,
If she deny your fauour let me die. 1840
Andr. Mightie and magnificent potentate, giue credence to
mine honorable good Lord, for I heard the Midwife sweare at
his natiuitie, that the Faieries gaue him the propertie of the
Thracian stone, for who toucheth it, is exempted from griefe,
and he that heareth my Maisters counsell, is alreadle possessed
of happinesse: nay which is more myraculous, as the Noble
man in his infancie lay in his Cradle, a swarme of Bees laid honey
on his lippes, in token of his eloquence. For melle dulcier
fluit oratio.
Ateu. Your grace must beare with imperfections: 1850
This is exceeding loue that makes him speake.
K. of S. Ateukin I am rauisht in conceit,
And yet deprest againe with earnest thoughts,
Me thinkes this murther soundeth in mine eare,
A threatning noyse of dire and sharp reuenge.
I am incenst with greefe, yet faine would ioy,
What may I do to end me of these doubts?
Ateu. Why Prince it is no murther in a King,
To end an others life to saue his owne,
For you are not as common people bee. 1860
Who die and perish with a fewe mans teares,
But if you faile, the state doth whole default
The Realme is rent in twaine, in such alosse,
And Aristotle holdeth this for true,
Of euills needs we must chuse the least,
Then better were it, that a woman died,
Then all the helpe of Scotland should be blent,
Tis pollicie my liege, in euerie state,
To cut off members that disturbe the head.
And by corruption generation growes. 1870
And contraries maintaine the world and state.