_Angel._ Jonas, arise, get thee to Nineveh, And preach to them the preachings that I bade; Haste thee to see the will of heaven perform'd. [_The_ Angel _departs._
_Jonas._ Jehovah, I am prest[108] to do thy will.-- What coast is this, and where am I arriv'd? Behold sweet Lycus streaming in his bounds, Bearing the walls of haughty Nineveh, Whereas three hundred towers do tempt the heaven. Fair are thy walls, pride of Assyria; But, lo, thy sins have piercèd through the clouds! Here will I enter boldly, since I know My God commands, whose power no power resists. [_Exit._
_Oseas._ You prophets, learn by Jonas how to live; Repent your sins, whilst he doth warning give. Who knows his master's will, and doth it not, Shall suffer many stripes, full well I wot.
SCENE III.--_The Garden of_ RASNI'S _Palace._
_Enter_ ALVIDA _in rich attire, with the_ KING OF CILICIA, _and her_ Ladies.
_Alvi._ Ladies, go sit you down amidst this bower, And let the eunuchs play you all asleep: Put garlands made of roses on your heads, And play the wantons whilst I talk a while.
_First Lady._ Thou beautiful of all the world, we will. [Ladies _enter the bower._
_Alvi._ King of Cilicia, kind and courteous, Like to thyself, because a lovely king, Come, lay thee down upon thy mistress' knee, And I will sing and talk of love to thee.
_K. of Cil._ Most gracious paragon of excellence, It fits not such an abject prince as I, To talk with Rasni's paramour and love.
_Alvi._ To talk, sweet friend! Who would not talk with thee? O, be not coy! art thou not only fair? Come, twine thine arms about this snow-white neck, A love-nest for the great Assyrian king: Blushing I tell thee, fair Cilician prince, None but thyself can merit such a grace.
_K. of Cil._ Madam, I hope you mean not for to mock me.
_Alvi._ No, king, fair king, my meaning is to yoke thee. Hear me but sing of love, then by my sighs, My tears, my glancing looks, my changèd cheer, Thou shalt perceive how I do hold thee dear.
_K. of Cil._ Sing, madam, if you please, but love in jest.
_Alvi._ Nay, I will love, and sigh at every rest. [_Sings._ _Beauty, alas, where wast thou born,_ _Thus to hold thyself in scorn?_ _Whenas Beauty kiss'd to woo thee,_ _Thou by Beauty dost undo me:_ _Heigh-ho, despise me not!_