Phil. I cannot live without Candiope; But I can die, without a murmur, Having my doom pronounced from your fair mouth.
Queen. If I am to pronounce it, live, my Philocles,
But live without, (I was about to say) [Aside.
Without his love, but that I cannot do;
Live Philocles without Candiope.
Phil. Madam, could you give my doom so quickly,
And knew it was irrevocable!
'Tis too apparent,
You, who alone love glory, and whose soul
Is loosened from your senses, cannot judge
What torments mine, of grosser mould, endures.
Queen. I cannot suffer you
To give me praises, which are not my own:
I love like you, and am yet much more wretched,
Than you can think yourself.
Phil. Weak bars they needs must be, that fortune puts
'Twixt sovereign power, and all it can desire.
When princes love, they call themselves unhappy;
Only, because the word sounds handsome in a lover's mouth;
But you can cease to be so when you please,
By making Lysimantes fortunate.
Queen. Were he indeed the man, you had some reason; But 'tis another, more without my power, And yet a subject too.
Phil. O, madam, say not so:
It cannot be a subject, if not he;
It were to be injurious to yourself
To make another choice.
Queen. Yet, Lysimantes, set by him I love,
Is more obscured, than stars too near the sun:
He has a brightness of his own,
Not borrowed of his father's, but born with him.
Phil. Pardon me if I say, whoe'er he be,
He has practis'd some ill arts upon you, madam;
For he, whom you describe, I see, is born
But from the lees o' the people.
Queen. You offend me, Philocles.
Whence had you leave to use those insolent terms,
Of him I please to love? One, I must tell you,
(Since foolishly I have gone thus far)
Whom I esteem your equal,
And far superior to prince Lysimantes;
One, who deserves to wear a crown—