[She kneels.
Themselves might tremble, and mortals bow
With reverence great as they pay to altars:
Sceptres should break in pieces and adore you;
At whose sight the sun and moon should blush
Themselves to blood and darkness, and falling
From their sphere, crush the audacious world to atoms,
For daring to behold a lustre so much greater
Than their own.
And. Sir, give me leave to wonder
What sin I have committed, which calling
Down the vengeance of the gods,
Hath made me author of all this blasphemy.
Sir, I beseech your majesty, if you are angry
With your creature, speak some cruel word and blast me.
Scorn me not into the other world, where I have
Sins enough of my own to blush for, and shall not need
To dye his cheeks for other men's offences.
King. Lady, though Parthian darts are not so sharp
As are those killing words; yet that breath, which
Utters them is sweeter than the morning dew.
I'll be dumb, for praises cannot add, but rather
Diminish Andromana's worth.
And. I wonder now no longer at this language,
'Tis such as kings are bred in.
But I beseech you, sir, if there be aught
You will command your servant—if Andromana
Must do or suffer anything for great Ephorbas,
Lay by yourself a minute, and remember
A merchant's wife must hear you.
King. Your husband Leon's dead, I hear, lady—
[She weeps.
Nay, spare those pearls, madam; cast not away
Such treasure upon the memory of one
Who, if the best of men, deserves them not.
Come, come, forget these sorrows, lady,
And wear not mourning weeds before the world's
Destruction; hide not those fair eyes, whose splendour
Would enrich our court. Madam, though none
There be in court can merit such a beauty,
Yet I myself have taken pains to search
A husband for you: what think you of myself?
And. Great sir, your care is, like yourself, all noble;
But suits with me no better
Than Phœbus' horses did with Phaeton,
Ruin'd the world and him. First, sir, you do
Debase yourself to honour her, whose worth
Is less considerable than lovers' oaths:
My husband's ashes are scarce cold yet,
And would your majesty have me forsake
My honour and his memory so soon? I have
Not paid oblations due to's ashes yet.
King. You compliment away the worth we know
You have, Andromana: what say you to the prince?