[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Plangus, as from sleep.
Plan. Lord! how this spirit of revenge still haunts me,
And tempts me with such promis'd opportunity,
And magnifies my injuries! Sometimes
It calls me coward, and tells me conscience,
In princes who are injur'd like myself,
Is but an excuse they find for what is in truth
Poorness of spirit or something baser.
It tells me 'tis a sin to be good, when all
The world is bad.
It makes me look upon myself, whilst wearing
This garb of virtue, like some old antiquary
In clothes that are out of fashion in Iberia.
But I will not yield to it: I know it is a greater glory
To a man's self (and he that courts opinion
Is of a vulgar spirit) to disobey than satisfy
An appetite which I know is sinful.
Good Heaven, guard me, how am I tempted
Enter Andromana.
To put on my former temper! but thus
I fling it from me.
[Throws away his sword.
SCENE III.
And. Why, how now, prince? if you part with your darling
So easily, there is small hopes but you
Have thrown all love behind you.
Plan. Heaven, how she's alter'd!
I, that once swore Jove from the well-tun'd sphere
Ne'er heard such harmony as I did when
She spake: methinks I can now, in comparison
Of her voice, count screech-owls' music,
Or the croaking toad.