Love in it's [sic] extasie, or, The large prerogative a kind of royall pastorall / written long since by a gentleman student at Aeton and now published.

Act. 1. Scen. 4.

Enter Bermudo.

Ber.

Of what aery substance is Mans soul That still 'tis so ambitious to aspire? The higher stil I am lifted, the more I covet. Is there no end Heavens of our vain desires? Cannot a Crown and Scepter stay our towr∣ing thoughts? But must we aim at things impossible? Are we All compos'd of that same disputa∣ble element Whose question'd flames outstrips the highest Region? Is there no Earth commixt within us, Or did we drop it at our first creation?

Enter Halisdus.

Thou envious Man, why com'st thou with a face So wretched, thus to check our joyes? What sorrow 'ist thy tears does thus prog∣nosticate?

Hal.

I now lament the wofull fruits Of your dire cruelty: Oh too much wrong∣ed Princess! Wretched Desdonella!

Ber.

What of her? Perhaps her passion Has caus'd her to lay violent hands upon her self. Is't not so?

Hal.

Your Highness is too true a Prophet, For the wofull Princess when as the fatall newes Of her dear brothers Misery, resounding in her ears Was seconded by the late publish't edict, Knowing

That she could not live without your anger, Which to her was worst of miseries, Threw her dejected body into the hideous stream, Where the en••••oured wa••es proud of their rich prey Even kild he•• with embracings▪

Ber.

She was a fond and foolish woman. We will not spend one tear would it recover her.

Hal.

She lov'd you sir to•• too well.

Ber.

For that we will not▪ Those looser thoughts Shall never ceise Bermudo▪ The world shall know, To offend in those absurdities is not the Na∣ture But the Vice of Power, from which I'le flye As from a singing Syren, or a weeping Cro∣cadile.

Enter Arontas.

What newes portends your haste?

Aron.

Two ships my gracious Lord, this morn Arriv'd within your harbour, which we, Bound by our duty, & your express Command, Took, ransaked, and burnt: But seizing of the men, Two cried out, Lay not your hands on sacred Majesty; For we are Kings: yet nevertheless We have brought 'um here to be examin'd by your highness.

Ber.

Spies on my life! Let 'um be brought before us; They shall dye. Tis I, their fate, have said it.

Exeunt.

Kings are not safe in their own territories; But still are subject unto Treachery. He that ascends a Throne by such severe, And unjust dealing, goes but on a slippery path, Where but to a stumble is a precipice. Beware Bermudo then, Traps are laid to take thee, Envie's big, and will be deliver'd of her brat Ambition, Which we must strangle in the Infancy, Or all will perish. He that begins in mischief must go on, and in it reign, If he but leanes to virtue once, he fals amain.

Exit.