Enter Cyprus, Florio, and Attendants.
Here comes the king. My lord, we must be private[203].
Cyp. Remove your hearings from our conference.
[Exeunt Florio, &c.
Now speak, my lord, speak freely, as to heaven.
Epire. First with my knee I kiss this prostrate earth,
And humbly beg that which my tongue shall speak,
So it proceed from love and vassalage,
May bear a pardon or forgetfulness.
Cyp. You have it; rise, discharge an open breast.
Epire. O my dread liege, my speech will make you sad—
And kings do seldom relish their distastes—
And from that sadness such a storm will rise
As will even drown up all credulity.
O, that my loyal heart could cover sin,
Or that my tongue, inured unto grief,
Might lose its spleen, ere it distemper you!
But love and mine allegiance bid me speak.
Cyp. Then speak, and do not rack me with delay.
Epire. Women, why were you made for man's affliction?
The first that ever made us taste of grief,
And last of whom in torments we complain:
You devils shap'd like angels, through whose deeds
Our forked shames are made most visible!
No soul of sense would wrong bright majesty,
Nor stain their blood with such impurity.