Soph. Nor glory Martius, in this day of thine,
'Tis behind yesterday, but before to morrow:
Who knows what Fortune then will do with thee?
She never yet could make the better man,
The better chance she has: the man that's best
She still contends with, and doth favor least.
Mar. Me thinks a graver thunder then the skies
Breaks from his lips; I am amaz'd to hear,
And Athens words, more then her swords doth fear.
Soph. Martius, slave Sophocles, couldst thou acquire
(And did thy Roman gods so love thy prayers,
And solemn sacrifice, to grant thy suit)
To gather all the valour of the Cæsars
Thy Predecessors, and what is to come,
And by their influence fling it on thee now,
Thou couldst not make my mind go less, not pare
With all their swords one virtue from my soul:
How am I vassall'd then? Make such thy slaves,
As dare not keep their goodness past their graves.
Know General, we two are chances on
The die of Fate; now thrown, thy six is up,
And my poor one beneath thee, next th[y] throw
May set me upmost, and cast thee below.
Mar. Yet will I trie thee more: Calamitie
Is mans true touchstone: Listen insolent Prince,
That dar'st contemn the Master of thy life,
Which I will force here 'fore thy City walls
With barbarous crueltie, and call thy wife
To see it, and then after send her—
Soph. Ha, ha, ha.
Mar. And then demolish Athens to the ground,
Depopulate her, fright away her fame,
And leave succession neither stone nor name.
Soph. Ha, ha, ha.
Mar. Dost thou deride me?
Val. Kneel, ask Martius
For mercy, Sophocles, and live happy still.
Soph. Kneel, and ask mercie? (Roman) art a god?
I never kneel'd, or begg'd of any else.
Thou art a fool, and I will loose no more
Instructions on thee: now I find thy eares [Solemn Musick.