Rhodon and Iris | ||
Scen. 2.
Martagon, Cynosbatus.Cy.
A happy morne be this to thee (friend Martagon,)
Ma.
Nay, 'tis the happiest morn that e'r we two beheld,
Rhodon is dead;
And is by this time, serv'd up in a wooden dish,
The purple bosom'd rose whose glorious pride
Disdain'd the beauties of all other flowers, is cropt,
Yea the ambitious bramble is quite wither'd,
And now is laid in the contemned dust:
Ponerias wit hath done this noble act.
Cy.
This is good newes, I must confesse, yet could I wisht
That noble Rhodon had not so ignobly dy'd.
Ma.
Thou art too ceremonious for a politician,
And too superstitious: our duties 'tis to iudge
Of the effect as it concernes the state of our affaires,
And not to looke backe on the meanes by which 'twas wrought.
He is unfit to rule a Civill state
That knowes not how in some respects to favour
Murther, or treason, or any other sinne,
Which that subtill animall, call'd man,
Doth openly protest against, for this end,
That he may more freely act it in private,
As his occasions shall invite him to't.
But 'tis no disputing now; the deed is done,
We are in a faire way to victory,
Conquest, triumph, and renowne;
We have a faire bginning, and what's well begun,
(If that the proverbe speakes truth) is halfe done.
exunt.
Rhodon and Iris | ||