Tyr. Stay! we require no pledge: we think thee honest.
Soph. Troth, the worse luck for me; we had both been made by't;
It was the way to make my wife great too.
Tyr. [to Helvetius.] I'll teach thee to be wide and strange to me—
I'll not leave thee
A title to put on, but the bare name
That man must call thee by, and know thee miserable.
Hel. 'Tis miserable, king, to be of thy making,
And leave a better workman; if thy honours
Only keep life in baseness, take 'em to thee,
And give them to the hungry; there's one gapes.
Soph. One that will swallow you, sir, for that jest,
And all your titles after.
Hel. The devil follow them!
There's room enough for him too. Leave me, thou king,
As poor as Truth, the mistress I now serve,
And never will forsake her for her plainness,
That shall not alter me.
Tyr. No? Our guard within there!
Enter Guard.
Guard. My lord!
Tyr. Bear that old fellow to our castle, prisoner;
Give charge he be kept close.