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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,
Into her hidden bowels. Prince it shall;
By Nemesis, it shall !

King. You do displease us :
You are too bold.

Phi. No, Sir, I am too tame,
Too much a turtle, a thing born without paffion,
A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud fails over,
And maketh nothing.

Pha. What you have seen in me to stir offence,
I cannot find; unless it be this lady,
Offer'd into mine arms, with the succeflion,
Which I must keep, though it hath pleas'd your

To mutiny within you. The king grants it,
And I dare make it mine. You have your answer.

Phi. If thou wert fole inheritor to him
That made the world his, and were Pharamond
As truly valiant, as I feel him cold,
And ring'd among the choicest of his friends,
And from this presence, spite of all these stops,
You should hear further from me.

King. Sir, you wrong the prince:
I gave you not this freedom to brave our best friends.
You do deserveour frown: Goto, be better temper'd.
Phi. It must be, Sir, when I am nobler us’d.


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King. Philaster, tell me
The injuries you aim at in your riddles.

Phi. If you had my eyes, Sir, and sufferance,
My griefs upon you, and my broken fortunes,
My wants great, and now nought but hopes and

My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laugh’d at,
Dare you be still my king, and right me not?

King. Go to:
Be more yourself, as you respect our favour;
You'll ftir us else : Sir, I must have you know
That you're, and shall be, at our pleasure, what

fashion we
Will put upon you: Smooth your brow, or by the

Phi. I am dead, Sir, you're my fate: It was not !
Said I was wrongd: I carry all about me
My weak stars led me to, all my weak fortunes.
Who dares in all this presence speak, (that is
But man of flesh, and may be mortal) tell me,
I do not most entirely love this prince,
And honour his full virtues !

King. Sure he's poffeft.
Phi. Yes, with my father's spirit: It's here, oh,

A dangerous fpirit ; now he tells me, king,

I am your

I was a king's heir; bids me be a king;
And whispers to me, these be all my subjects.
Tis strange he will not let me deep, but dives
Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes
That kneel, and do me service, cry me king :
But I'll suppress him, he's a factious fpirit,
And will undo me: Noble Sir, your hand,

King. Away, I do not like this:
For this time I do pardon your wild speech.

[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,
And so well, that, if the king please, I find,
I may live many years.

Dion. The king must pleafe,
Whilst we know what you are, and who you are,
Your wrongs and injuries : Shrink not, worthy Sir,
But add your father to you: In whose name
We'll waken all the Gods, and conjure up
The rods of vengeance, the abused people ;
Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high,
And so begirt the dens of thefe male-dragons,
That, through the strongest fafety, they shall beg
For mercy at your fword's point.

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,
You had a virtuous gentlewoman call'd you father :
Is she yet alive?

Dion. Most honour'd Sir, she is:
And, for the penance but of an idle dream,
Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage.


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