’Bout the worlds Conquerour, to make him think,
      And did perswade him that he was a god;
      So there be those base flies, that will not stick
      To buzze into her ears she is an Angel,
      And that the food she feeds on is Ambrosia.

Gonzalo: 

      She should not touch it then, ’tis Poets fare.

Gaspero: 

      I may take leave to say, she may as well
      Determine of her self to be a goddess,
      With lesser flatterie than he a god: 
      For she does conquer more, although not farther. 
      Every one looks on her, dyes in despair,
      And would be glad to do it actually,
      To have the next age tell how worthily,
      And what good cause he had to perish so: 
      Here beauty is superlative, she knows it,
      And knowing it, thinks no man can deserve,
      But ought to perish, and to dye for her: 
      Many great Princes for her love have languish’d,
      And given themselves a willing sacrifice,
      Proud to have ended so:  And now there is
      A Prince so madded in his own passions,
      That he forgets the Royaltie he was born to,
      And deems it happiness to be her slave.

Gonzalo: 

      You talk as if you meant to winde me in,
      And make me of the number.

Gaspero: 

      Sir, mistake me not, the service that I owe ye
      Shall plead for me:  I tell you what she is,
      What she expects, and what she will effect,
252] Unless you be the miracle of men,
      That come with a purpose to behold,
      And goe away your self.

Gonzalo: 

      I thank you, I will do it:  But pray resolve me,
      How is she stor’d with wit?

Gaspero: 

      As with beauty,
      Infinite, and more to be admired at,
      Than medled with.

Gonzalo: 

      And walks her tongue the same gate with her feet?

Gaspero: 

      Much beyond:  what e’re her heart thinks, she utters: 
      And so boldly, so readily, as you would judge
      It penn’d and studied.

[Enter Erota, Philander, Annophil, Hyparcha, Mochingo Attendants]

Gonzalo: 

      She comes.

Gaspero: 

      I must leave you then,
      But my best wishes shall remain with you.

[Exit.

Gonzalo: 

      Still I must thank you. 
      This is the most passionate,
      Most pitifull Prince,
      Who in the Caldron of affections,
      Looks as he had been par-boy’ld.

Philander: 

      If I offend with too much loving you,
      It is a fault that I must still commit,
      To make your mercy shine the more on me.

Erota: