EPIRE. My thoughts are troubled, joy forsakes me quite, And all my meditations are revenge: Ambition and fell murder join in one, And aid each other to untwine a state, And make whole millions prove unfortunate. Now must I practise court-art, flattery, And wisely temporise with blackest deeds: I'll smile and stab: now weep, then laugh, then frown, And with sly tricks of state kill all suspicion; Devils must seem like angels, saith ambition. The blackest thoughts I'll study to excel; Crowns and revenge have made men dive to hell. My plot is current, and it cannot miss, Whilst wisdom winds me on the clue of bliss. The king shall kill the queen; that acted right, I soon will turn his brightest day to night. He's simple, honest, and loves downy rest; Then he must fall: 'tis policy in state To hurl them down are bless'd with happy fate. Thus each shall scourge himself with his own rod; Who is all policy avows no God-- Who is within there, ho? _Enter_ FLORIO. FLO. Did your grace call? EPIRE. I did; where's the king? FLO. He's in his privy chamber playing at chess. EPIRE. Go straight, and tell him I must speak with him, And say my business doth import great haste. FLO. I go, my lord. [_Exit._ EPIRE. Be a bless'd Mercury: now mount thee up, my spirit, And show thyself a politician; Let slander rule thy tongue, envy thy heart, And let destruction be the[202] period Of what thou speak'st; for this my maxim is: But rule no heaven, and but revenge no bliss. _Enter_ CYPRUS, FLORIO, _and Attendants_. Here comes the king. My lord, we must be private[203]. CYP. Remove your hearings from our conference. [_Exeunt_ FLORIO, _&c._ Now speak, my lord, speak freely, as to heaven. EPIRE. First with my knee I kiss this prostrate earth, And humbly beg that which my tongue shall speak, So it proceed from love and vassalage, May bear a pardon or forgetfulness. CYP. You have it; rise, discharge an open breast. EPIRE. O my dread liege, my speech will make you sad-- And kings do seldom relish their distastes-- And from that sadness such a storm will rise As will even drown up all credulity. O, that my loyal heart could cover sin, Or that my tongue, inured unto grief, Might lose its spleen, ere it distemper you! But love and mine allegiance bid me speak. CYP. Then speak, and do not rack me with delay.