Pol. The king, I hope, in this will not do so.
Euph. 'Tis malice makes thee speak,
Hard-hearted lord. Hadst thou no other way
To wreak thy canker'd and long-foster'd hate
Upon my head but thus—thus bloodily
By my son's suffering, and for such a fault,
As thou shouldst love him rather? Is thy daughter
Disparag'd by his love? Is his blood base,
Or are his fortunes sunk? This law was made
For suchlike cautions to restrain the base
From wronging noble persons by attempts
Of such a kind; but where equality
Meets in the match, the fault is pardonable.
Enter Leucothoë.
Leu. Mercy, my sovereign! mercy, gracious king!
Pol. Minion, who sent for you? 'twere modesty
For you to be at home.
King. Let her alone. Speak, lady:
I charge you, no man interrupt her.
Leu. If ever pity touch'd that princely breast,
If ever virgin's tears had power to move,
Or if you ever lov'd, and felt the pangs
That other lovers do, pity, great king—
Pity and pardon two unhappy lovers.
King. Your life is not in question.
Leu. Yes, royal sir,
If law condemn my Philocles, he and I
Have but one heart, and can have but one fate.