Cæl. Must I then goe? tis easie to say no,
Must is the King himselfe, and I must goe;
Shall I then goe? that word is thine; I shall,
Is thy commaund: I goe because I shall;
Will I then goe? I aske my selfe; ô ill,
King, saies I must; you, I shall; I, I will.
Ter. Had I not sworne. Cæl. Why didst thou sweare?
Ter. The King
Sat heauvy on my resolution,
Till (out of breath) it panted out an oath.
Cæl. An oath? why, what’s an oath? tis but the smoake,
Of flame & bloud; the blister of the spirit,
Which rizeth from the Steame of rage, the bubble
That shootes vp to the tongue, and scaldes the voice,
(For oathes are burning words) thou swor’st but one,
Tis frozen long agoe: if one be numbred,
What Countrimen are they? where doe they dwell,
That speake naught else but oathes?
Ter. They’re men of hell.
An oath? why tis the trafficke of the soule,
Tis law within a man; the seale of faith,
The bond of euery conscience; vnto whom,
We set our thoughts like hands: yea, such a one
I swore, and to the King: A King containes
A thousand thousand; when I swore to him,
I swore to them; the very haires that guard
His head, will rise vp like sharpe witnesses
Against my faith and loyalty: his eye
Would straight condemne me: argue oathes no more,
My oath is high, for to the King I swore.
Enter Sir Quintilian with the cup.
Cæ. Must I betray my Chastity? So long
Cleane from the treason of rebelling lust;
O husband! O my Father! if poore I,
Must not liue chast, then let me chastly dye.
S. qui. I, heer’s a charme shall keep thee chaste, come, come,
Olde Time hath left vs but an houre to play
Our parts; begin the Sceane, who shall speake first?
Oh, I, I play the King, and Kings speake first;
Daughter stand thou heere, thou Sonne Terrill there,
O thou standst well, thou lean’st against a poast,
(For thou’t be posted off I warrant thee:)
The King will hang a horne about thy necke,
And make a poast of thee; you stand well both,
We neede no Prologue, the King entring first,
He’s a most gracious Prologue: mary then
For the Catastrophe, or Epilogue,
Ther’s one in cloth of Siluer, which no doubt,
Will please the hearers well, when he steps out;
His mouth is fil’d with words: see where he stands;
He’ll make them clap their eyes besides their hands.
But to my part; suppose who enters now,
A King, whose eyes are set in Siluer; one
That blusheth golde, speakes Musicke, dancing walkes,
Now gathers neerer takes thee by the hand,
When straight thou thinkst, the very Orbe of heauen,
Mooues round about thy fingers, then he speakes,
Thus—thus—I know not how.