Chorus270
Enter Bohan and Oberon.
Boh. So, Oberon, now it begins to work in kind.
The ancient lords by leaving him alone,
Disliking of his humours and despite,
Let him run headlong, till his flatterers,
Soliciting his thoughts of lawless lust
With vile persuasions and alluring words,
Make him make way by murder to his will.
Judge, fairy king, hast heard a greater ill?
Ober. Nor seen more virtue in a country maid.
I tell thee, Bohan, it doth make me sorry,
To think the deeds the king means to perform.
Boh. To change that humour, stand and see the rest:
I trow my son Slipper will show’s a jest.
Enter Slipper with a companion, boy or wench, dancing a hornpipe, and dance out again.
Now after this beguiling of our thoughts,
And changing them from sad to better glee,
Let’s to our cell, and sit and see the rest,
For, I believe, this jig will prove no jest. [Exeunt.