Lat. The more doubted;
For hatred hatcht at home is a tame Tiger,
May fawn and sport, but never leaves his nature;
The jars of Brothers, two such mighty ones,
Is like a small stone thrown into a river,
The breach scarce heard, but view the beaten current,
And you shall see a thousand angry rings
Rise in his face, still swelling and still growing;
So jars circling distrusts, distrusts breed dangers,
And dangers death, the greatest extreme shadow,
Till nothing bound 'em but the shoar their graves;
There is no manly wisedom, nor no safety
In leaning to this league, this piec'd patcht friendship;
This rear'd up reconcilement on a billow,
Which as it tumbles, totters down your fortune;
Is't not your own you reach at? Law and nature
Ushering the way before you; is not he
Born and bequeath'd your subject?
Rol. Ha.
Lat. What fool would give a storm leave to disturb his peace,
When he may shut the casement? can that man
Has won so much upon your pity,
And drawn so high, that like an ominous Comet,
He darkens all your light; can this toucht Lyon
(Though now he licks and locks up his fell paws,
Craftily huming, like a catt to cozen you)
But when ambition whets him, and time fits him,
Leap to his prey, and seiz'd once, suck your heart out?
Do you make it conscience?
Rol. Conscience, Latorch, what's that?
Lat. A fear they tye up fools in, natures coward,
Palling the blood, and chilling the full spirit
With apprehension of meer clouds and shadows.
Rol. I know no conscience, nor I fear no shadows.
Lat. Or if you did, if there were conscience,
If the free soul could suffer such a curb
To the fiery mind, such puddles to put it out;
Must it needs like a rank Vine, run up rudely,
And twine about the top of all our happiness,
Honour and rule, and there sit shaking of us?
Rol. It shall not, nor it must not; I am satisfied,
And once more am my self again:
My Mothers tears and womanish cold prayers,
Farewel, I have forgot you; if there be conscience,
Let it not come betwixt a crown and me,
Which is my hope of bliss, and I believe it:
Otto, our friendship thus I blow to air,
A bubble for a boy to play withal;
And all the vows my weakness made, like this,
Like this poor heartless rush, I rend in pieces.
Lat. Now you go right, Sir, now your eyes are open.
Rol. My Fathers last petition's dead as he is,
And all the promises I clos'd his eyes with,
In the same grave I bury.