INO. Hear me; Ask me no questions, nor answer me; or if you do, By Heav'n, I'll never speak more. It is revenge You'd have, and 'tis a great one, a very noble one, To kill yourself! Be confident, your greatest foes Wish nothing more. When after-ages come to hear your story, What will they say? Just as they did of Cato: He durst not look great Cæsar in the face-- So Plangus was afraid, and died. A very pretty story, and much to a man's credit: For shame, dear Plangus (let friendship use that title): Show your great soul the world believes you're master of-- And I dare swear you are in this action. Nay, rally up yourself, and fight it stoutly. Shake from your mind revenge, and having laid That passion by, put on that virtue the world Admires in you; 'tis now the time to show it. The sun, broke from a cloud, doubles his light; And fire, the more resisted, flames more bright. Andromana has injur'd you; scorn her, therefore, As though[92] she had done nothing; I'd not do her the favour To have one thought of her, or could be troubled At that she did. As for your father, sir, Besides the tie of nature, he knows not He hath wrong'd you: or if he doth, 'Tis love that caus'd him; A word that once made an excuse with Plangus For what offence soever. PLAN. Thou hast wrought upon me, And I am resolved to live a day or two more: But if I like it not--well, I'll go try To sleep a little; perhaps that may--I am Strangely melancholy: prythee, lie down by me, Inophilus, I'm safe while in thy company. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _Enter_ PLANGUS, _as from sleep_. PLAN. Lord! how this spirit of revenge still haunts me, And tempts me with such promis'd opportunity, And magnifies my injuries! Sometimes It calls me coward, and tells me conscience, In princes who are injur'd like myself, Is but an excuse they find for what is in truth Poorness of spirit or something baser. It tells me 'tis a sin to be good, when all The world is bad. It makes me look upon myself, whilst wearing This garb of virtue, like some old antiquary In clothes that are out of fashion in Iberia. But I will not yield to it: I know it is a greater glory To a man's self (and he that courts opinion Is of a vulgar spirit) to disobey than satisfy An appetite which I know is sinful. Good Heaven, guard me, how am I tempted _Enter_ ANDROMANA. To put on my former temper! but thus I fling it from me. [_Throws away his sword._ SCENE III. AND. Why, how now, prince? if you part with your darling So easily, there is small hopes but you Have thrown all love behind you. PLAN. Heaven, how she's alter'd! I, that once swore Jove from the well-tun'd sphere Ne'er heard such harmony as I did when She spake: methinks I can now, in comparison Of her voice, count screech-owls' music, Or the croaking toad. [_Aside._ AND. Who is't you speak of, sir?