Athelst. His pride we’ll somewhat tame, and curb the head
Of his rebellious prodigality:
He hath invited us, and all our peers,
To feast with him to-morrow; his provision,
I understand, may entertain three kings.
But Lincoln, let our subjects secretly
Be charged on pain of life that not a man
Sell any kind of fuel to his servants.
Cypr. This policy shall clip his golden wings,
And teach his pride what ’tis to strive with kings.
Athelst. Withdraw awhile: [Exeunt all except Athelstane.
None filled his hands with gold, for we set spies,
To watch who fed his prodigality:
He hung the marble bosom of our court,
As thick with glist’ring spangles of pure gold,
As e’er the spring hath stuck the earth with flowers.
Unless he melt himself to liquid gold,
Or be some god, some devil, or can transport
A mint about him, by enchanted power,
He cannot rain such showers. With his own hands
He threw more wealth about in every street,
Than could be thrust into a chariot.
He’s a magician sure, and to some fiend,
His soul by infernal covenants has he sold,
Always to swim up to the chin in gold.
Be what he can be, if those doting fires,
Wherein he burns for Agripyne’s love,
Want power to melt from him this endless mine,
Then like a slave we’ll chain him in our tower,
Where tortures shall compel his sweating hands
To cast rich heaps into our treasury. [Exit.
SCENE II.—The same.
Music sounding still; a curtain being drawn, Andelocia is discovered sleeping in Agripyne’s lap; she has his purse, and she and another lady tie another like it in its place, and then rise from him. Enter Athelstane.
Agrip. I have found the sacred spring that never ebbs.
Leave us: [Exit Lady.] But I’ll not show’t your majesty
Till you have sworn by England’s royal crown,
To let me keep it.
Athelst. By my crown I swear,
None but fair Agripyne the gem shall wear.
Agrip. Then is this mine: see, father, here’s the fire
Whose gilded beams still burn, this is the sun
That ever shines, the tree that never dies,
Here grows the Garden of Hesperides;
The outside mocks you, makes you think ’tis poor,
But entering it, you find eternal store.
Athelst. Art sure of this? How didst thou drive it out?