Viceroy.
Infortunate condition of kings,[138]
Seated amidst[139] so many helpless doubts!
First, we are plac'd upon extremest height,
And oft supplanted with exceeding hate;
But ever subject to the wheel of chance;
And at our highest never joy we so,
As we both doubt and dread our overthrow.
So striveth not the waves with sundry winds,
As fortune toileth in th' affairs of kings,
That would be fear'd, yet fear to be belov'd,
Sith fear or love to kings is flattery:
For instance, lordings, look upon your king,
By hate deprived of his dearest son;
The only hope of our successive line.[140]
Nobles.
I had not thought, that Alexandro's heart
Had been envenom'd with such extreme hate;
But now I see, that words have several works,
And there's no credit in the countenance.
Villuppo.
No; for, my lord, had you beheld the train,
That feigned love, and colour'd in his looks,
When he in camp comforted Balthazar,
Far more inconstant had you thought the sun,
That hourly coasts the centre of the earth,
Than Alexandro's purpose to the prince.
Viceroy.
No more, Villuppo: thou hast said enough,
And with thy words thou slay'st our wounded thoughts;
Nor shall I longer dally with the world,
Procrastinating Alexandro's death:
Go, some of you, and fetch the traitor forth,
That, as he is condemned, he may die.
Enter Alexandro, with a Nobleman and halberts.