close, And use that little tongue, with a little more temper.
Cel. I thank ye, Sir.
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?
Cel. O very merry.
2 Ush. Only our selves; this churlish fellow shall not know.
Cel. By no means.
2 Ush. And can you love a little?
Cel. Love exceedingly: I have cause to love you, dear Sir.
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.
Cel. Yes marry will I.
2 Ush. And't shall go hard but I'le send ye a Venison Pasty, And bring a bottle of wine along.
1 Ush. Make room there,
2 Ush. Room there afore; stand close, the train is coming.
Enter King Antigonus, Timon, Charinthus, Menippus.
Cel. Have I yet left a beauty to catch fools? Yet, yet, I see him not. O what a misery Is love, expected long, deluded longer!
Ant. Conduct in the Embassadors.
1 Ush. Make room there.
Ant. They shall not wait long answer— [Flourish.
Cle. Yet he comes not.
Enter 3 Embassadors.
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.
Enter Demetrius with a Javelin, and Gentlemen.
3 Em. Choose which you will, or Peace or War, We come prepar'd for either.
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—
Cel. What a brave confidence flows from his spirit! O sweet young man!
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