Re-enter Agripyne and listens.
She’s angry, that I durst so high aspire.
O, she disdains that any stranger’s breast
Should be a temple for her deity:
She’s full of beauty, full of bitterness.
Till now, I did not dally with love’s fire:
And when I thought to try his flames indeed,
I burnt me even to cinders. O, my stars,
Why from my native shore did your beams guide me,
To make me dote on her that doth deride me?
[Agripyne kneels: Cyprus walks musing.
Agrip. Hold him in this mind, sweet Cupid, I conjure thee. O, what music these hey-hos make! I was about to cast my little self into a great love trance for him, fearing his heart had been flint: but since I see ’tis pure virgin wax, he shall melt his bellyful: for now I know how to temper him. [Exit; as she departs Cyprus spies her.
Cypr. Never beg mercy? yet be my tormentor.
I hope she heard me not: doubtless she did,
And now will she insult upon my passions,
And vex my constant love with mockeries.
Nay, then I’ll be mine own physician,
And outface love, and make her think that I
Mourned thus, because I saw her standing by.
What news, my Lord of Cornwall?
Enter Cornwall.
Cornw. This fair prince,
One of your countrymen, is come to court,
A lusty gallant brave, in Cyprus’ isle,
With fifty bard[386] horses prancing at his heels,
Backed by as many strong-limbed Cypriots,
All whom he keeps in pay: whose offered service,
Our king with arms of gladness hath embraced.
Cypr. Born in the isle of Cyprus? what’s his name?
Cornw. His servants call him Fortunatus’ son.