_Enter_ DEVIL, _and carry him away_. CONEYCATCHER. Brother, why do you not read to my father? PRIEST. Truly, my book of exhortation is At my place of exercise, and without it I can do nothing. God's peace be with him! [_Exeunt_. _Enter the_ KING, PHILARCHUS _and his_ FATHER, DUNSTAN _and attendants_. KING. Father, say on; for now my leisure serves, And Edgar gives thee leave to tell thy mind; For I perceive thine eyes are full of tears, Which shows that many inward passions trouble thee. If any here have wrong'd thine aged years, In keeping that from thee that is thy due, Name but the man, and, as I am England's king, Thou shalt have all the favour I can show. FATHER. Then, virtuous prince, mirror of courtesy, Whose judgments, and whose laws for government, And punishing of every foul abuse, Is like the judgment of great Alexander, Third of that name, whom some termed the Severe; Or like Vespasian, Rome's virtuous governor, Who, for a blow his son did give a swain, Did straight command that he should lose his hand. Then, virtuous Edgar, be Vespasian once, In giving sentence on a graceless child. Know, virtuous prince, that in my pride of years, When lustful pleasure prick'd my wanton mind, Even in the April of my flourishing time, I was betroth'd and wedded to a wife, By whom too soon I had that unkind boy, Whose disobedience to his aged sire The Lord will plague with torments worse than death. This disobedient child, nay, base extravagant,[297] Whom I with care did nourish to this state, Puff'd with a pride that upstart courtiers use, And seeing that I was brought to poverty, He did refuse to know me for his sire; And when I challenged him by nature's laws To yield obedience to his father's age, He told me straight he took it in great scorn To be begot by one so base as I. My age, that ill could brook this sharp reply, Did with this wand, my lord, reach him a blow; But he, contrary laws of God and men, Did strike me such a blow in vild disdain, That with the stroke I fell to earth again. KING. Unkind Philarchus, how hast thou misdone, In wilful disobedience to thy sire! Art thou grown proud, because I favoured thee? Why, I can quickly make thee bare again, And then, I think, being in thy former state, Thou wilt remember who thy father was. And, gentle Sophocles, in good time I recount Thy ancient saying, not so old as true, For saith [he], He that hath many children, Shall never be without some mirth, Nor die without some sorrow; for if they Be virtuous, he shall have cause to rejoice, But if vicious, stubborn, or disobedient, Ever to live in continual sadness. I am sorry, Philarchus, that my favours Have made thee insolent: well, I will see now if My frowns will make thee penitent. Now, father, see how Nature 'gins to work, And how salt tears, like drops of pearly[298] dew, Falls from his eyes, as sorrowing his amiss.