Ham. I never have done.
Aub. Nor will I think—
Ham. I hope it is not question'd.
Aub. The means to have it so, is now propos'd you.
Draw, so, 'tis well, and next cut off my head.
Ham. What means your Lordship?
Aub. 'Tis, Sir, the Dukes pleasure:
My innocence hath made me dangerous,
And I must be remov'd, and you the man
Must act his will.
Ham. I'le be a Traytor first, before I serve it thus.
Aub. It must be done,
And that you may not doubt it, there's your warrant,
But as you read, remember Hamond, that
I never wrong'd one of your brave profession;
And, though it be not manly, I must grieve
That man of whose love I was most ambitious
Could find no object of his hate but me.
Ham. It is no time to talk now, honour'd Sir,
Be pleas'd to hear thy servant, I am wrong'd,
And cannot, being now to serve the Duke,
Stay to express the manner how; but if
I do not suddenly give you strong proofs,
Your life is dearer to me than my own,
May I live base, and dye so: Sir, your pardon. [Exit Ham.
Aub. I am both waies ruin'd, both waies mark't for slaughter
On every side, about, behind, before me,
My certain fate is fix't: were I a Knave now,
I could avoid this: had my actions
But meer relations to their own ends, I could 'scape now:
Oh honesty! thou elder child of vertue,
Thou seed of Heaven, why to acquire thy goodness
Should malice and distrust stick thorns before us,
And make us swim unto thee, hung with hazards?
But Heaven is got by suffering, not disputing;
Say he knew this before-hand, where am I then?
Or say he does [not] know it, where's my Loyalty?
I know his nature, troubled as the Sea,
And as the Sea devouring when he's vex'd,
And I know Princes are their own expounders.
Am I afraid of death? of dying nobly?
Of dying in mine innocence uprightly?
Have I met death in all his forms, and fears,
Now on the points of Swords, now pitch'd on Lances?
In fires, and storms of Arrows, Battels, breaches,
And shall I now shrink from him, when he courts me
Smiling and full of sanctity? I'le meet him;
My Loyal hand and heart shall give this to him,
And though it bear beyond what Poets feign
A punishment, duty shall meet that pain;
And my most constant heart to do him good,
Shall check at neither pale affright nor bloud.