Nicomede | ||
SCENE III.
Prusias, Nicomede, Araspes, Guards.Prus.
This in my brest does strange disorders raise,
Yet Nicomede, I cannot think thee base,
But let's yield somewhat to the Senates Prayers,
And strive to reassure the Queen who fears;
Passion for her, Affection pleads for thee,
I would not have this Hate eternal be.
Yet though I prize them, cannot in my brest
Cherish these thoughts onely to break my rest.
I would make Love, and Nature, of accord,
Father, and Husband be; and in a word—
Nico.
If I may with you any credit win,
Be neither one, nor t'other.
Prus.
What then?
Nico.
King.
Bravely that Noble Character resume,
Passions in Monarchs hearts should finde no room,
Father and Husband are respects not known
To a true King, who should regard his Throne,
And nothing more. Reign as you ought then, Sir,
And Rome will fear you more, than you fear her.
See but how she who dares to threaten you,
With apprehensions does my Loss pursue,
Hoping by losing me, strange things to gain,
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Prusi.
Thus then ungrateful i'le thy counsel use,
Laodice, or my four Kingdoms choose.
'Twixt thee and Attalus thy King does make
This dividend, thou one of them must take
No longer Father now, but King i'le be.
Nico.
Were you as well King of Laodice;
And could with Justice such a choice propose,
I should ask time e're I my thoughts disclose.
But now to show my will to pleasure you,
Yet with respect not to offend her too,
I answer without frivolous delay,
To your intentions not to what you lay.
To that dear Brother all those rights transpose
And let Laodice be free to choose.
By that see which is mine.
Prusi.
Poor abject mind,
VVhat fury makes thee for a woman blind,
Prefer'st thou her to all thy glorious fights?
To all thy valour to my Realm unites?
After such baseness, dost deserve to live?
Nico.
I follow that example which you give,
Prefer not you a woman to that son,
By whom those Victories those crowns were won?
Prusi.
Do you see me renounce a crown for mine,
Nico.
Do you imagine that is my design?
If to my brother what is yours I quit,
I nothing yeild having no right to it,
For what can I unto your Crowns pretend?
Till death shall to your Right and Reign give end.
Pardon me Sir the Hatshness of the Phrase,
Yet Fate in fine does limit Monarchs days
Your people then, wanting a King, will see
And choose perhaps betwixt that Prince and me.
Sir, our resemblance is not yet so high,
But dullest eyes a difference may espy.
And the old rights of birth have oft been known
To call an Exile back to fill the throne.
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Their's others brought under your yoke by me.
And though Rome still her jealousie pursue,
I can do for my self what's done for you:
Prusi.
I'le take a course for that!
Nico.
It may be done.
If to their Fears you sacrifice your son:
Else your Estates resign'd unto that Prince,
Shall not be his, when you are gone from hence
'Tis not in secret, that I this declare,
But speak it, that he may himself prepare.
He hears me now.
Pru.
Ingrateful without blood.
I shall know how to make his titles good.
And you—
Nicomede | ||