Duke. You're
Very high, considering you are in chains.
Zor. Why, sir, think you these fetters can confine
My mind as they do my legs, or that my
Tongue is your prisoner, and dares only say:
May it please your highness? How much are you
Mistaken? Know, sir, my soul is
Prompter to my tongue, and gives it courage to say
Anything that heaven will not frown at. We
Should detract from those great pow'rs above,
If we pay fears to any here below.
Perhaps you think I'll beg my life now upon
A pair of bent petitioning knees? No, sir;
Had I a hundred lives, I'd give them all
To sharpest deaths, rather than beg for one.
Duke. You're well resolv'd; perhaps your mind may alter,
When you see the axe. In the meantime commit him
To the closest prison where, if you have any
Accounts with heaven, you will have time to cast
Them up before your death.
Zor. Your sentence brings me
Joy. Welcome the keenest axe that can be set!
'Twill cut my head and chains both off together.
Welcome, most happy stroke, since it will bring
Rest to my eyes, and make a slave a king. [Exit with a Guard.
Duke. Madam, I suppose this journey has so wearied
You, that it is time to show you the way
To your lodgings, and leave you to your
Repose.
Guard. Make way there for the duke!
Amph. My lord, you had best attend the duke, because
'Tis a respect due to him.
Ort. I shall, madam,
At your command. [Exeunt.
Amph. How has my tongue belied my too true heart,
In speaking hate unto
The duke, and love to Ortellus! I hate the duke?
So eyes do sleep, that long have known no rest.
How could my lips give passage to such words,
And not have clos'd for ever?
Not by my heart's direction, I am sure; for that
So swell'd, being injured by my mouth, as, had
Not pride and reason kept it here from this
Unquiet feat, it would have forc'd away
To Archimedes' breast, and there have whisper'd to
His heart my tongue's untruth. Why should I love
This man, that shows me nothing but contempt
And hate? Rouse, drooping heart, and think
Of that; think of it always, so by degrees
'Twill bring a winter round thee, that in time
Shall chill the heat of thy undone and lost
Affections. O, it is not true that all
Our sex love change, then I might find one path
That leads to it;
That womanish vice were virtue now in me,
'Twould free my heart, and that were charity.
Enter Duke.