Queen. What of him now?
Ast. As men are apt, interpreted my words, To all the advantage he could wrest the sense, As if I meant you loved him.
Queen. Have I deposited within thy breast
The dearest treasure of my life, my glory,
And hast thou thus betrayed me!
But why do I accuse thy female weakness,
And not my own, for trusting thee!
Unhappy queen, Philocles knows thy fondness,
And needs must think it done by thy command.
Ast. Dear madam, think not so.
Queen. Peace, peace, thou should'st for ever hold thy tongue:
For it has spoke too much for all thy life. [To her.
Then Philocles has told Candiope,
And courts her kindness with his scorn of me.
O whither am I fallen!
But I must rouse myself, and give a stop
To all these ills by headlong passion caused.
In hearts resolved weak love is put to flight,
And only conquers, when we dare not fight.
But we indulge our harms, and, while he gains
An entrance, please ourselves into our pains.
Enter LYSIMANTES.
Ast. Prince Lysimantes, madam.
Queen. Come near, you poor deluded criminal;
See how ambition cheats you:
You thought to find a prisoner here,
But you behold a queen.
Lys. And may you long be so! 'tis true, this act May cause some wonder in your majesty.
Queen. None, cousin, none; I ever thought you Ambitious, proud, designing.