_Mars._ Daughter, thou hear'st what love hath here alleg'd, How all these kings, by beauty summon'd here, Put in their pleas, for hope of diadem, Of noble deeds, of wealth, and chivalry, All hoping to possess Angelica. Sith father's will may hap to aim amiss (For parents' thoughts in love oft step awry), Choose thou the man who best contenteth thee, And he shall wear the Afric crown next me. For trust me, daughter, like of whom thou please. Thou satisfied, my thoughts shall be at ease.
_Ang._ Kings of the South, viceroys of Africa, Sith father's will hangs on his daughter's choice, And I, as erst Princess Andromache Seated amidst the crew of Priam's sons, Have liberty to choose where best I love; Must freely say, for fancy hath no fraud, That far unworthy is Angelica Of such as deign to grace her with their loves; The Soldan with his seat in Babylon, The Prince of Cuba, and of Mexico, Whose wealthy crowns might win a woman's will, Young Brandimart, master of all the isles Where Neptune planted hath his treasury: The worst of these men of so high import As may command a greater dame than I. But fortune, or some deep-inspiring fate, Venus, or else the bastard brat of Mars, Whose bow commands the motions of the mind, Hath sent proud love to enter such a plea As nonsuits all your princely evidence, And flat commands that, maugre majesty, I choose Orlando, County Palatine.
_Rod._ How likes Marsilius of his daughter's choice?
_Mars._ As fits Marsilius of his daughter's spouse.
_Rod._ Highly thou wrong'st us, King of Africa, To brave thy neighbour princes with disgrace, To tie thine honour to thy daughter's thoughts, Whose choice is like that Greekish giglot's[145] love That left her lord, Prince Menelaus, And with a swain made 'scape away to Troy. What is Orlando but a straggling mate, Banish'd for some offence by Charlemagne, Skipp'd from his country as Anchises' son, And means, as he did to the Carthage Queen, To pay her ruth and ruin for her love?
_Orl._ Injurious Cuba, ill it fits thy gree To wrong a stranger with discourtesy. Were't not the sacred presence of Angelica Prevails with me, as Venus' smiles with Mars, To set a supersedeas of my wrath, Soon should I teach thee what it were to brave.