Cra. Well Sir? it is built
As if the Architect had been a Prophet,
And fashion'd it alone for this night's action;
The Vaults so hollow, and the Walls so strong,
As Dian there might suffer violence,
And with loud shrikes in vain call Jove to help her;
Or should he hear, his Thunder could not find
An entrance to it.
The. I give up my self
Wholly to thy direction, worthiest Crates;
And yet the desperate cure that we must practice
Is in it self so foul, and full of danger,
That I stand doubtful whether 'twere more manly
To dye not seeking help, or that help being
So deadly, to pursue it.
Cra. To those reasons
I have already urg'd, I will add these.
For but consider Sir—
Era. It is of weight
What e'r it be, that with such vehement action,
Of Eye, Hand, Foot, nay all his bodies motion,
Crates incites the Prince to.
Nean. Then observe,
With what variety of passions he
Receives his reasons; now he's pale, and shakes
For fear or anger; now his natural red
Comes back again, and with a pleasing smile
He seems to entertain it; 'tis resolv'd on
Be it what 'twill: to his ends may it prosper
Though the State sink for't.
Cra. Now you are a Prince
Fit to rule others, and in shaking off
The Bonds in which your Mother fetters you
Discharge your debt to nature, she's your guide,
Follow her boldly, Sir.
The. I am confirm'd,
Fall what may fall.
Cra. Yet still disguise your malice
In your humility.
The. I am instructed.
Cra. Though in you[r] heart there rage a thousand tempests,
All calmness in your looks.