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King. Rise; you have it, Sir. Speak your intents, Sir.
Phi. Shall I speak ’em freely?.com Be still my royal sovereign.
King. As a subject, We give you freedom.
Dion. Now it heats.
Phi. Then thus I turn My language to you, prince; you, foreign man! Ne'er ftare, nor put on wonder, for you must Endure me, and you shall. This earth you tread on (A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess) By my dead father (oh ! I had a father, Whose memory I bow to) was not left To your inheritance, and I up and living ; Having myself about me and my sword, The souls of all my name, and memories, These arms and some few friends, besides the gods, To part fo calmly with it, and sit still, And say, 'I might have been.' I tell thee, Phara
mond, When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten, And my name ashes : For, hear me, Pharamond, This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth, My father's friends made fertile with their faiths, Before that day of shame, shall gape and swallow
Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave,
King. You do displease us :
Phi. No, Sir, I am too tame,
Pha. What you have seen in me to stir offence,
Phi. If thou wert fole inheritor to him
King. Sir, you wrong the prince:
King. Philaster, tell me
Phi. If you had my eyes, Sir, and sufferance,
King. Go to:
King. Sure he's poffeft.
I am your
I was a king's heir; bids me be a king;
[Exeunt King, Pha. Are, and train. Dion. See, how his fancy labours : Has he not Spoke home and bravely? What a dangerous train Did he give fire to ! how he shook the king ! Made his foul melt within him, and his blood Run into whey ! it stood upon his brow Like a cold winter dew.
Phi. Gentlemen, You have no suit to me? I am no minion : You stand, methinks, like men that would be
courtiers, If you
could well be flatter'd at a price, Not to undo your children: You're all honest : Go, get you home again, and make your country A virtuous court, to which your great ones may, In their diseased age, retire, and live recluse.
Clere. How do you, worthy Sir?
Phi. Well, very well,
Dion. The king must pleafe,
Phi. Friends, no more ; Our ears may be corrupted : 'Tis an age We dare not trust our wills to: Do you love me?
Thra. Do we love Heav'n and honour?
Phi. My lord Dion,
Dion. Most honour'd Sir, she is: