_Slip._ Why, sir, your father was a miller, that could shift for a peck of grist in a bushel, and you a fair-spoken gentleman, that can get more land by a lie than an honest man by his ready money.
_Slip._ I say, sir, that if she call you shifting knave, you shall not put her to the proof.
_Slip._ Because, sir, living by your wit as you do, shifting is your letters-patents: it were a hard matter for me to get my dinner that day wherein my master had not sold a dozen of devices, a case of cogs, and a suit of shifts,[264] in the morning. I speak this in your commendation, sir, and, I pray you, so take it.
_Ateu._ If I live, knave, I will be revenged. What gentleman would entertain a rascal thus to derogate from his honour? [_Beats him._
_Ida._ My lord, why are you thus impatient?
_Ateu._ Not angry, Ida; but I teach this knave How to behave himself among his betters.-- Behold, fair countess, to assure your stay, I here present the signet of the king, Who now by me, fair Ida, doth salute you: And since in secret I have certain things In his behalf, good madam, to impart, I crave your daughter to discourse apart.
_Count. of A._ She shall in humble duty be addrest[265] To do his highness' will in what she may.
_Ida._ Now, gentle sir, what would his grace with me?
_Ateu._ Fair, comely nymph, the beauty of your face, Sufficient to bewitch the heavenly powers, Hath wrought so much in him, that now of late He finds himself made captive unto love; And though his power and majesty require A straight command before an humble suit, Yet he his mightiness doth so abase As to entreat your favour, honest maid.
_Ida._ Is he not married, sir, unto our queen?
_Ida._ And are not they by God accurs'd, That sever them whom he hath knit in one?
_Ateu._ They be: what then? we seek not to displace The princess from her seat; but, since by love The king is made your own, he is resolv'd In private to accept your dalliance, In spite of war, watch, or worldly eye.
_Ida._ O, how he talks, as if he should not die! As if that God in justice once could wink Upon that fault I am asham'd to think!
_Ateu._ Tut, mistress, man at first was born to err; Women are all not formèd to be saints: 'Tis impious for to kill our native king, Whom by a little favour we may save.