Seg. Ay, but what some precocious warmth may spill,
May not an early frost as surely kill?
King. But, Segismund, my son, whose quick discourse
Proves I have not extinguished and destroy’d
The Man you charge me with extinguishing,
However it condemn me for the fault
Of keeping a good light so long eclipsed,
Reflect! This is the moment upon which
Those stars, whose eyes, although we see them not,
By day as well as night are on us still,