2 Ush. When the show's past,

      I'le have ye into the Cellar, there we'll dine.

      A very pretty wench, a witty Rogue,

      And there we'll be as merry; can ye be merry?

      2 Ush. Then I'le carry ye,

      And shew you all the pictures, and the hangings,

      The Lodgings, Gardens, and the walks: and then, sweet,

      You shall tell me where you lye.

      Why are eyes set on these, and multitudes

      Follow to make these wonders? O good gods!

      What would these look like if my love were here?

      But I am fond, forgetful.

      Ant. Now your grievance, Speak short, and have as short dispatch.

      1 Emb. Then thus, Sir:

      In all our Royal Masters names, We tell you,

      Ye have done injustice, broke the bonds of concord,

      And from their equal shares, from Alexander

      Parted, and so possess'd, not like a Brother,

      But as an open Enemy, Ye have hedged in

      Whole Provinces, man'd and maintain'd these injuries;

      And daily with your sword (though they still honour ye)

      Make bloudy inroads, take Towns, and ruin Castles,

      And still their sufFerance feels the weight.

      2 Em. Think of that love, great Sir, that honor'd friendship

      Your self held with our Masters, think of that strength

      When you were all one body, all one mind;

      When all your swords struck one way, when your angers,

      Like so many brother Billows rose together,

      And curling up your foaming Crests, defied

      Even mighty Kings, and in their falls entomb'd 'em;

      O think of these; and you that have been Conquerours,

      That ever led your Fortunes open ey'd,

      Chain'd fast by confidence; you that fame courted,

      Now ye want Enemies and men to match ye,

      Let not your own Swords seek your ends to shame ye.

      1 Ush. Room for the Prince there.

      Cel. Was it the Prince they said? how my heart trembled!

      'Tis he indeed; what a sweet noble fierceness

      Dwells in his eyes! young Meleager like,

      When he return'd from slaughter of the Boar,

      Crown'd with the loves and honours of the people,

      With all the gallant youth of Greece, he looks now,

      Who could deny him love?

      Dem. Hail Royal Father.

      Ant. Ye are welcome from your sport, Sir, do you see this Gent.

      You that bring Thunders in your mouths, and Earthquakes

      To shake and totter my designs? can you imagine

      (You men of poor and common apprehensions)

      While I admit this man, my Son, this nature

      That in one look carries more fire, and fierceness,

      Than all your Masters in their lives; dare I admit him,

      Admit him thus, even to my side, my bosom,

      When he is fit to rule, when all men cry him,

      And all hopes hang about his head; thus place him,

      His weapon hatched in bloud, all these attending

      When he shall make their fortunes, all as sudden

      In any expedition he shall point 'em,

      As arrows from a Tartars bow, and speeding,

      Dare I do this, and fear an enemy?

      Fear your great Master? yours? or yours?

      Dem. O Hercules!

      Who saies you do, Sir? Is there any thing

      In these mens faces, or their Masters actions,

      Able to work such wonders?

      Cel. Now he speaks: O I could dwell upon that tongue for ever.

      Dem. You call 'em Kings, they never wore those Royalties,

      Nor in the progress of their lives arriv'd yet

      At any thought of King: Imperial dignities,

      And powerful God-like actions, fit for Princes

      They can no more put on, and make 'em sit right,

      Than I can with this mortal hand hold Heaven:

      Poor petty men, nor have I yet forgot

      The chiefest honours time, and merit gave 'em:

      Lisimachus your Master, at the best,

      His highest, and his hopeful'st Dignities

      Was but grand-master of the Elephants;

      Seleuchus of the Treasure; and for Ptolomey,

      A thing not thought on then, scarce heard of yet,

      Some Master of Ammunition: and must these men—

      Dem. Must these, hold pace with us,

      And on the same file hang their memories?

      Must these examine what the wills of Kings are?

      Prescribe to their designs, and chain their actions

      To their restraints? be friends, and foes when they please?

      Send out their Thunders, and their menaces,

      As if the fate of mortal