Vil. What think you now Castruccio?
Is not this a merry life?
Cast. Still thou art couzen'd;
It is a glorious royal discontentment;
How bravely it becomes him!
Fer. To be made
The common Butt, for every slave to shoot at;
No peace, no rest I take, but their alarms
Beat at my heart: why do I live, or seek then,
To add a day more to these glorious troubles?
Or to what end when all I can arrive at,
Is but the summing up of fears and sorrows?
What power has my command, when from my bosom
Ascanio, my most dear, and lov'd Ascanio,
Was snatch'd, spite of my Will, spite of my Succor,
And by mine own proud slave, retein'd most miserable?
And still that villain lives to nip my pleasures,
It being not within my power to reach him.
Ro[n]. Time may restore all this; and would you hear
Whose counsel never fail'd you.
Fer. Tell me no more,
I faint beneath the burthen of my cares;
And yield my self most wretched.
Ron. On my knees
I beg it, mighty Sir, vouchsafe me hearing.
Fer. Speak, speak, and I thus low, such is my fortune,
Will hear what thou canst say.
Vil. Look but on this,
Has not a man that has but means to keep
A Hawk, a Greyhound, and a Hunting Nag,
More pleasure than this King?
Cast. A dull fool still,
Make me a King, and let me scratch with care,
And see who'll have the better; give me rule
Command, obedience, pleasure of a King,
And let the Devil roar; The greatest corrosive
A King can have, is of more precious tickling,
And handled to the height, more dear delight,
Than other mens whole lives, let 'em be safe too.
Vil. Think of the mutinous people.