My sole surviving prop, canst thou devise
No secret means, by which I may escape
This hated palace?
Oth. That hope is vain. The tyrant knows thy hate;
Hence, day and night, his guards environ thee.
Rouse not, then, his anger:
Let soft persuasion and mild eloquence
Redeem that liberty, which stern rebuke
Would rob thee of for ever.
Zap. An injur'd queen