_Ateu._ [_aside_]. And now is my time by wiles and words to rise, Greater than those that think themselves more wise.
_K. of Scots._ And first, fond king, thy honour doth engrave Upon thy brows the drift of thy disgrace. Thy new-vow'd love, in sight of God and men, Links thee to Dorothea during life; For who more fair and virtuous than thy wife? Deceitful murderer of a quiet mind, Fond love, vile lust, that thus misleads us men To vow our faiths, and fall to sin again! But kings stoop not to every common thought: Ida is fair and wise, fit for a king; And for fair Ida will I hazard life, Venture my kingdom, country, and my crown: Such fire hath love to burn a kingdom down. Say Doll dislikes that I estrange my love: Am I obedient to a woman's look? Nay, say her father frown when he shall hear That I do hold fair Ida's love so dear: Let father frown and fret, and fret and die, Nor earth nor heaven shall part my love and I.-- Yea, they shall part us, but we first must meet, And woo and win, and yet the world not see't.-- Yea, there's the wound, and wounded with that thought, So let me die, for all my drift is naught!
_Ateu._ [_coming forward_]. Most gracious and imperial majesty,-- [_Aside_]. A little flattery more were but too much.
_K. of Scots._ Villain, what art thou That thus dar'st interrupt a prince's secrets?
_Ateu._ Dread king, thy vassal is a man of art, Who knows, by constellation of the stars, By oppositions and by dire aspécts, The things are past and those that are to come.
_K. of Scots._ But where's thy warrant to approach my presence?
_Ateu._ My zeal, and ruth to see your grace's wrong, Make me lament I did detract[251] so long.
_K. of Scots._ If thou know'st thoughts, tell me, what mean I now?
_Ateu._ I'll calculate the cause Of those your highness' smiles, and tell your thoughts.
_K. of Scots._ But lest thou spend thy time in idleness, And miss the matter that my mind aims at, Tell me: what star was opposite when that was thought? [_Strikes him on the ear._
_Ateu._ 'Tis inconvenient, mighty potentate, Whose looks resemble Jove in majesty, To scorn the sooth of science with contempt. I see in those imperial looks of yours The whole discourse of love: Saturn combust, With direful looks, at your nativity Beheld fair Venus in her silver orb: I know, by certain axioms I have read, Your grace's griefs, and further can express Her name that holds you thus in fancy's bands.