Epire. They are like wrath,
Never unarm'd to beat weak injury.
Alph. Nay more, we are the sons of destiny:
Virtue's our guide, our aim is dignity.
Phil. 'Sfoot, king, shalt not forsake 'em: this I see,
Love, fight, and death are rul'd by destiny.
Cyp. My spirit speaks thy motion,
Madam, although advantage might evade,
And give my love more hope, yet my bent will,
Bow'd to your pleasure, doth embrace your law.
We do accept the combat, and ourself
Will with that duke try fortunes; this my friend,
The more[135] part of myself, my dearest Philocles,
One of an angel's temper, shall with that lord
Try best and worst. The place? the time? the sword?
Epire. They are your rights, we claim as challengers.
Cyp. And we would lose that 'vantage; but since fame
Makes virtue dullard,[136] we embrace our rights:
The place before these walls, the hour next sun,
The pole-axe and the hand-axe for the fight.
Queen. It is enough;
My hostage is my person and my love,
Cyp. And mine my hope, my faith, and royalty.
Epire. They are of poise sufficient, and one light
Shall at one instant give us day and night.
[Exeunt Queen, Mariana, Epire, Alphonso, &c.