POET
Madam, my love presents this book unto you.
ONAELIA
To me? I am not worthy of a line,
Unless at that Line hang some hook to choke me:
[Onaelia reads book.]
To the Most Honoured Lady - Onaelia.
Fellow thou liest, I'm most dishonoured:
Thou should'st have writ to the most wronged Lady.
The title of this book is not to me,
I tear it therefore as mine honour's torn.
CORNEGO
Your verses are lamed in some of their feet, Master poet.
ONAELIA
What does it treat of?
POET
Of the solemn triumphs
Set forth at coronation of the Queen.
ONAELIA
Hissing, the poet's whirlwind, blast thy lines!
Com'st thou to mock my tortures with her triumphs?
POET
'Las Madam!
ONAELIA
When her funerals are past,
Crown thou a dedication to my joys,
And thou shalt swear each line a golden verse.
Cornego, burn this idol.