Arcite. Are you not out?
Meet you no ruin, but the Soldier in
The crancks and turns of Thebs? you did begin
As if you met decaies of many kinds:
Perceive you none, that do arouse your pity
But th' unconsider'd Soldier?
Pal. Yes, I pity
Decaies where-e'er I find them, but such most
That sweating in an honourable toil
Are paid with Ice to cool 'em.
Arcite. 'Tis not this
I did begin to speak of, this is virtue
Of no respect in Thebs, I spake of Thebs
How dangerous if we will keep our honors,
It is for our residing, where every evil
Hath a good colour; where ev'ry seeming good's
A certain evil, where not to be ev'n jump
As they are, here were to be strangers, and
Such things to be meer Monsters.
Pal. 'Tis in our power,
(Unless we fear that Apes can Tutor's) to
Be Masters of our manners: what need I
Affect anothers gate, which is not catching
Where there is faith, or to be fond upon
Anothers way of speech, when by mine own
I may be reasonably conceiv'd; sav'd too,
Speaking it truly; why am I bound
By any generous bond to follow him
Follows his Taylor, haply so long, until
The follow'd, make pursuit? or let me know,
Why mine own Barber is unblest, with him
My poor Chinn too, for 'tis not Cizard just
To such a Favorites glass: What Cannon is there
That does command my Rapier from my hip
To dangle't in my hand, or to goe tip toe
Before the street be foul? either I am
The fore-horse in the Team, or I am none
That draw i' th' sequent trace: these poor slight sores,
Need not a Plantain; That which [r]ips my bosome
Almost to th' heart's.
Arcite. Our Uncle Creon.
Pal. He,
A most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes
Makes Heaven unfear'd, and villany assured
Beyond its power: there's nothing, almost puts
Faith in a Feavor, and deifies alone
Voluble chance, who only attributes
The faculties of other Instruments
To his own Nerves and act; Commands men service,
And what they win in't, boot and glory on;
That fears not to [do] harm; good, dares not; Let
The bloud of mine that's sibbe to him, be suckt
From me with Leeches, let them break and fall
Off me with that corruption.
Arc. Clear spirited Cosin
Let's leave his Court, that we may nothing share,
Of his loud infamy: for our milk,
Will relish of the pasture, and we must
Be vile, or disobedient, not his kinsmen
In blood, unless in quality.
Pal. Nothing truer:
I think the ecchoes of his shames have deaf't
The ears of heav'nly Justice: widdows cries
Descend again into their throats, and have not
Due audience of the gods: Valerius.
Enter Valerius.
Val. The King calls for you; yet be leaden-footed
Till his great rage be off him. Phebus when
He broke his whipstock, and exclaim'd against
The Horses of the Sun, but whisper'd to
The loudness of his fury.