Cle. What mean you, madam?
Syl. Not to live a minute
After his death.
Cle. That all the gods forbid!
Syl. No, they command it rather, that have made
Our souls but one. Cleander, thou wert wont
To be more courteous; and I do see
Some pity in thee: if not for pity's sake,
Yet for thine own good, spare his life, and take
Mine; for thou know'st, when I am dead, this kingdom
Thy father will inherit or thyself.
'Tis but the waiting of an old man's death,
Who cannot long outlive me: will you do't?
Thyr. Sir, you are noble, I do see you are,
You lov'd this lady once: by that dear love—
With me it was a conjuration
To draw my soul out, whilst I was so happy—
I do beseech you spare her noble life,
Her death will sit full heavy on your soul,
And in your height of kingly dignities
Disturb that head which crowns will give no rest to.
To take my life is justice.
Syl. Rather mine;
I have offended in first loving him,
And now betraying him unto his end.
Thyr. Be not so cruel, madam, to yourself
And me, to envy me a death so noble.
Sir, as you hope your love shall ever prosper,
Your great designs, your fights, whate'er they are;
As you do hope for peace in your last hour,
And that the earth may lightly clothe your ashes,
Despatch me quickly, send me to my death.
Cle. A strange contention! Madam, will you please
A little to retire: 'tis your honour
That I do strive to save, as well as life.
Pray, do not cross my purpose; I shall do
Something that you may thank me for.
Syl. Cleander,
Save but the shepherd, and I'll crown thy merit.
Cle. Will you be pleas'd to enter here?