_Eust._ But knows my friend this portrait? be advis'd.
_Sir Bar._ Is it not Ida, the Countess of Arran's daughter's?
_Eust._ So was I told by Elinor of Carlisle: But tell me, lovely Bartram: is the maid Evil-inclin'd, misled, or concubine Unto the king or any other lord?
_Sir Bar._ Should I be brief and true, than thus, my Dick: All England's grounds yield not a blither lass, Nor Europe can surpass her for her gifts Of virtue, honour, beauty, and the rest: But our fond king, not knowing sin in lust, Makes love by endless means and precious gifts; And men that see it dare not say't, my friend, But we may wish that it were otherwise. But I rid thee to view the picture still, For by the person's sight there hangs some ill.
_Eust._ O, good Sir Bartram, you suspect I love (Then were I mad) her whom I never saw. But, howsoe'er, I fear not enticings: Desire will give no place unto a king: I'll see her whom the world admires so much, That I may say with them, "There lives none such."
_Sir Bar._ Be Gad, and sall both see and talk with her; And, when thou'st done, whate'er her beauty be, I'll warrant thee her virtues may compare With the proudest she that waits upon your queen.
_Serv._ My lady entreats your worship in to supper.
_Sir Bar._ Guid, bonny Dick, my wife will tell thee more: Was never no man in her book before; Be Gad, she's blithe, fair, lewely,[256] bonny, etc.[257] [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ BOHAN _and_ OBERON; _to them a round of_ Fairies, _or some pretty dance._
_Boh._ Be Gad, gramercies, little king, for this; This sport is better in my exile life Than ever the deceitful werld could yield.
_Ober._ I tell thee, Bohan, Oberon is king Of quiet, pleasure, profit, and content, Of wealth, of honour, and of all the world; Tied to no place,--yet all are tied to one. Live thou this life, exil'd from world and men, And I will show thee wonders ere we part.
_Boh._ Then mark my story, and the strange doubts That follow flatterers, lust, and lawless will, And then say I have reason to forsake The world and all that are within the same. Go shroud us in our harbour, where we'll see The pride of folly, as it ought to be. [_Exeunt._
_Ober._ Here see I good fond actions in thy jig And means to paint the world's inconstant ways: But turn thine ene, see what I can command.