Bur.  Then here about should Peter wayt for me, For this is the Pavilion of the Princesse.

Pet.  My Lord.

Bur.  Peter.

Pet.  Here is the key that opens to the Tent: 
I stole it from my sweet heart Thomasin. 
Enter without prolixity, woo and winne the Lady;
But give me gold (my Lord) and Ile to Dice.

Bur.  Hold, take thy fill.

Pet.  And it shall goe as fast.

Bur.  Now, gentle Peter, get thee unto rest. 
My businesse craves the absence of the world: 
None but my selfe and Rodoricke shall behold
The secret complot that I doe intend.

Pet.  I goe, my Lord. [Exit.

Bur.  Now, blessed key, open unto my love,
Doe more then loving lynes or words can doe. 
My letters have bin answerd with disdayne: 
Her father I have mov’d to gayne my love,
But he is frosty in my fervent suite;
And now perforce I will obtayne her love
Or ease her puling hatred by revenge.

Rod.  You stay too long:  Ile help to turne the key.

    Discover her sitting in a chayre asleepe.

Bur.  What do I see? the majesty of heaven
Sit in a mayden slumber on the earth? 
What, is my Bellamira turnd a goddesse? 
Within the table of her glorious face
Methinks the pure extraction of all beauty
Flowes in abundance to my love-sick eye. 
O, Rodoricke, she is admirably fayre;
And sleeping if her beauty be so rare
How will her eyes inchaunt me if she wake. 
Here, take the poyson; Ile not stayne her face
For all the treasure of the Westerne Island.

Rod.  I see no such admired perfection. 
Waken her, Burbon, and this loving charme,
Which now hath led your sences prisoner,
Will vanish, and her speach, full of reproofe,
Beget a new phantasma all of hate. 
Thou wilt detest her when she shall deny thee.

Bur.  Waken her Roderick, for I want the power.

Rod.  I hope I am disguisde sufficiently
That Bellamira cannot know my face.—­
Madam, fayre Bellamira!

Bel.  Here I am:  Who calls on Bellamira?

Bur.  I, fayre love; The Duke of Burbon that doth honor thee.

Bel.  The Duke of Burbon in my Tent so late!  Where is my Gard? what, Peter, Thomasin!

Rod.  Step to her and restrayne her lest she call:  Ile be a looker on and be unknowne.

Bur.  What needs your Highnesse call for any Gard
Since you are garded with a faythfull frend? 
Behold me, Madam, humbly on my knee
Come to renew my suite:  vouchsafe me love
Or with this weapon take away my life. 
Much better ’twere a thousand times to dye
Then live in torment of your scorching eye. 
You have inflam’d my hearte; oh quench that flame
Or into cinders turne my haplesse truncke,
Haplesse in being unbelov’d by you.