+Dec.+ Some coward devil, sure, Possesseth him. [_Aside._ +Oss.+ My lord, I am instructed T' a patience far above your injuries; Nor shall your scorn or anger triumph o'er My resolution. I'm fix'd here, unmov'd As is the centre. +Dec.+ I was much to blame: This may be a brave virtue. Pray, my lord, Give me your reasons why you tread this path, So little beaten by the feet of courtiers? I would not have the world mistake your aim, And construe it to fear or melancholy. +Oss.+ That cannot shake me: he who by the card O' th' world's opinion steers his course, shall harbour In no safe port. But to your ear, my lord, I give this free account. Seven winters pass'd, When I set sail from Sicily, a storm O'ertook the ship, so powerful, that the pilot Gave up the stern to the ordering of the waves, His art and hand grown useless; those kind stars The sailors used t' invoke were lost i' th' tempest, And nothing but a night, not to be seen, Was seen by us. When every one began T' advance himself toward death, as men condemn'd To th' axe, when hope of pardon is shut out; I, spite o' th' envious cloud, look'd up to heaven. And darted my faith thither, vowing to Forsake the flatter'd pomp and business of The faithless world, if I with safety might Attain the land. +Dec.+ Was not I there, my lord? +Oss.+ You were. +Dec.+ And made not I the selfsame vow? +Oss.+ Heaven hath recorded that we both did vow it-- O' th' sudden, night forsook us, and the loud Unruly winds fled to their unknown dwellings; When a soft breath 'gan whisper to our sails, A calm was to ensue. +Dec.+ My memory Afflicts me much. But these are feeble vows, Made only by our fears: we ought to have Our reason undismay'd, whene'er a promise Can force performance. +Oss.+ I dispute it not-- Soon as I reach'd the shore, I courted on Those vanities which had my youth enamour'd, Yet still with some remorse. Honours betray'd me Into a glorious trouble, and I grew Proud of my burthen; but if Heaven had been Severe to my delays in this diseas'd Surfeit of pomp, my soul might have been call'd T' her last account: and, O my lord, where then Had breach of vow been safe? +Dec.+ These are sad thoughts. +Oss.+ But necessary. When the morning's loss Made me search out a shape for flight, this habit Itself presented, and again redeem'd me; And know, I am resolv'd ne'er to forsake it, Till in the vault my earth and it together Shall wear away to dust. +Dec.+ My lord, you have Good title to your virtue. Pray, retire Into my tent: this sudden change, if known, May much amaze the soldier, and endanger The glory of th' attempt. I shall entreat Your prayer, since you deny your arm.