Open thy bosom, and receive torrents of sorrow,
That lie like rocks of lead upon my soul;
Honest Rinatus, experience bids me trust thee
With a mighty secret. Thou canst not choose
But know my son of late is much retir'd.
I do not like that youth should be thus melancholy:
Let them enjoy themselves; for age will come,
Whose impotency will deny all pleasures.
I do believe he loves me. Ha?
Rin. Yes, doubtless, better than sick men health;
Or those who are penn'd up in darkness
Love the sun.
Eph. I speak not, as if I thought he did not;
For thou know'st I humour him, afford him
Liberty enough; I never chide him, nor express
The least dislike of any action. Am not I a gentle father?
Methinks, were I a son again to such a father,
I should not think he liv'd too long; shouldst thou, Rinatus?
Rin. No more doth he, upon my soul:
One command of yours would make him venture upon
Lightning, nay, almost make him act a sin,
A thing he fears to name.
Eph. I do believe thee:
But yet, methinks, should he be grown so impious,
There might be found excuses.
A crown is a temptation; especially so near one:
'Tis not with princes as with other sons;
And I am told too—
Hath not my hand the palsy?—
Doth a crown become grey hairs? To be a king
Might make some men forswear all conscience.
But I know Plangus hath far nobler thoughts;
And yet an empire might excuse a parricide.
Rin. Sir, sure, you are a stranger to your son;
For, give me leave to say, your fears are vain:
So great a virtue as the prince's cannot
Anticipate his hopes by any sin.
Honour and duty have been acquainted with him now
Too long to be divorc'd. Some sycophants there are
(Such creatures still will haunt the court), I know,
Love not the prince, because he loves not them.
Sir, shut your ears to them: they will betray you
To your ruin. Jealousy's a disease
Should be below a king, as that which seizeth
On the basest spirits. O, shut it from your soul!
One may read in story what dire effects
The fury hath brought forth. Kings make away
Their only sons, and princes their fathers;
And when they have done, they may despair at leisure.
Eph. I do not think Plangus
Hath plots or on my crown or me;
He was virtuous always, and is still, I hope:
But why is he so much from court then, and alone too?
I do but ask the question.
Rin. It can be no design, believe me, sir;
For crowns are won by other courses.
Aspirers must grow popular, be hedg'd about
With their confederates. Then would he flatter you,
Be jolly still, as if no melancholy thought were in him.
A guilty conscience would then teach him policy,
And he would seek to take suspicion from all his carriages;
Innocence makes him careless now.
Eph. Thou hast almost resolv'd me,
The tempest in my soul is almost laid,
And wants but time to calm it.
Youth hath its whimsies, nor are we
To examine all their paths too strictly.
We went awry ourselves when we were young.
Rin. Sir!