Cyp. I am the King of Cyprus who, led on
By the divine instinct of heavenly love,
Come with my sword to beg that royal maid,
And to approve by gift of heaven and fate
She is alone to me appropriate:
Which to maintain, I challenge entrance here,
Where I will live a king or recreant.
Cae. And what are you or your intendiments?
Phil. I am less than my thoughts, more than myself,
Yet nothing but the creature of my fate;
By name my nature only is obscur'd,
And yet the world baptiz'd me Philocles;
My entrance here is proof of holy zeal,
And to maintain that, no severe disdain,
False shape of chastity, nor woman's will,
Neglective petulance or uncertain hope,
Foul-visor'd coyness, nor seducing fame,
Should rob the royal temper of true love
From the desired aim of his desires,
Which my best blood shall witness, or this field
Entomb my body, made a recreant.
Cae. Enter and prosper, as your cause deserves.
Flo. Princes, lay your hands on these swords' points.
Here you shall swear[155] by hope, by heaven, by Jove,
And by the right you challenge in true fame,
That here you stand not arm'd with any guile,
Malignant hate, or usurpation
Of philters, charms, or night-spells; characters,
Or other black infernal vantages;
But even with thoughts as pure
As your pure valours or the sun's pure beams,
T' approve the right of your[156] affection;
And howsoe'er your fortunes rise or fall,
To break no faith in your conditions.
So help you Jove!
All. We swear!
Queen. How often do my maiden thoughts correct
And chide my froward will for this extreme
Pursuit of blood! believe me, fain I would
Recall mine oath's vow, did not my shame
Hold fast my cruelty, by which is taught
Those gems are prized best are dearest bought,
Sleep, my love's softness then, waken my flame,
Which guards a vestal sanctity! Princes, behold,
Upon those weapons sits my god of love,
And in their powers my love's security[157].
If them you conquer, we are all your slaves:
If they triumph, we'll mourn upon your graves.
Mar. Now, by my maiden modesty, I wish
Good fortune to that Philocles: my mind
Presages virtue in his eaglet's eyes.
'Sfoot, he looks like a sparrow-hawk or a wanton fire,
A flash of lightning or a glimpse of day:
His eye steals to my heart, and lets it see
More than it would: peace! blab no secrecy;
He must have blows.
Flo. Sound cornets, princes, respect your guards.