EUBULUS. Who deals with kings in matters of great weight, When froward will doth bear the chiefest sway, Must yield of force; there need no subtle sleight, No painted[132] speech the matter to convey. No prayer can move, when kindled is the ire. The more ye quench, the more increased[133] the fire. This thing I prove in Pithias’ woful case, Whose heavy hap with tears I do lament: The day is come, when he, in Damon’s place, Must lose his life: the time is fully spent. Nought can my words now with the king prevail, Against the wind and striving stream[134] I sail: For die thou must, alas! thou seely Greek. Ah Pithias, now come is thy doleful hour: A perfect friend, one[135] such a world to seek. Though bitter death shall give thee sauce full sour, Yet for thy faith enroll’d shall be thy name Among the gods within the book of fame. Who knoweth his case, and will not melt in tears? His guiltless blood shall trickle down anon. _Then the_ MUSES _sing._ _Alas, what hap hast thou, poor Pithias, now to die! Woe worth the man which for his death hath given us cause to cry._ EUBULUS. _Methink I hear, with yellow rented hairs, The Muses frame their notes, my state to moan:[136] Among which sort, as one that mourneth with heart, In doleful times myself will bear a part._ MUSES. _Woe worth the man which for his death, &c._ EUBULUS. _With yellow rented hairs, come on, you Muses nine; Fill now my breast with heavy tunes, to me your plaint resign:_ _For Pithias I bewail, which presently must die, Woe worth the man which for his death hath given us cause, &c._ MUSES. _Woe worth the man which for his, &c._ EUBULUS. _Was ever such a man, that would die for his friend? I think even from the heavens above the gods did him down send To show true friendship’s power, which forc’d thee now to die. Woe worth the man which for thy death, &c._ MUSES. _Woe worth the man, &c._ EUBULUS. _What tiger’s whelp was he, that Damon did accuse? What faith hast thou, which for thy friend thy death doth not refuse? O heavy hap hadst thou to play this tragedy! Woe worth the man which for thy death, &c._ MUSES. _[Woe] worth the man, &c._ EUBULUS. _Thou young and worthy Greek, that showeth such perfect love, The gods receive thy simple ghost into the heavens above: Thy death we shall lament with many a weeping eye. Woe worth the man, which for his death, &c._ MUSES. _Woe worth the man, which for thy death hath given us cause to cry._ EUBULUS. Eternal be your fame, ye Muses, for that in misery Ye did vouchsafe to strain your notes to walk. My heart is rent in two with this miserable case, Yet am I charged by Dionysius’ mouth to see this place At all points ready for the execution of Pithias. Need hath no law: will[137] I or nil I, it must be done, But lo, the bloody minister is even here at hand. _Enter_ GRONNO.