EPH. Sit down, my lords, we have business with you Requires your hands and hearts, both speed and counsel. Our danger's such, that I could wish't had flown Upon us without warning, for so cross the fates are, Our safety must be bought at such a price, That we must lose what is as dear to us Almost as it. 'Tis Plangus' death or mine Must secure the other's life. Nay, startle not: If I am grown as wearisome to you as To him, your calling is in vain, my lords; Nor shall I labour longer to preserve A life denied me by the gods and you. But if there's any here who hath a son Brought to these years with so much care and love As mine hath been, think what a grief it is To lose him, and shed one tear with me. But for that son to plume himself with feathers Pluck'd from his father's wings, would melt one's eyeballs. Yet Plangus, who hath vizarded his ends with virtue, Finding it useless now, hath thrown it from him, And openly attempts my crown and life. When mischief's wheel once runs, how fast it speeds Headlong to put in act the blackest deeds! Were my crown his, had he my life to give, Though he would let me, I would scorn to live. EUB. Sir, we are called upon a great affair, and if it Be true, the speed of our resolves Shall be as great as it. Your majesty hath reign'd so happily and long, We will not think a time beyond it. And such, so great your virtue still hath been, Strangers have been enamour'd, and admir'd it. Our enemies, that could have wish'd it less, Yet have sat down with envy, nor attempted Aught against you, knowing (I am confident) By such unjust attempts the gods would be Their foes. Methinks 'tis therefore much less likely That Plangus, who hath hitherto been found A miracle of filial piety, and one That we may say was born the heir to all Your virtues, all your goodness, as well as The kingdom; who counts it glory as much To be an honest man as a great prince: I say, for him who, as he is your son, And as we hitherto have found him full Of worth and honour, we cannot but behold As him in whom the spreading hopes of all Iberia grow, and promise to themselves A still green happiness, that ne'er shall know, What autumn or a naked winter means. For him that hath scarce yet put off Those clothes, which still wear the badges Of the great danger he was in, not for Himself, my liege, but you and us; for had He wish'd the ruin of his father and his country, The Argives would have done that for him, And he not have been call'd in question. But when we must remember with what wings He flew to meet the torrent, both against The counsel of his friends and his own hopes; How love to you and us spurr'd him on forward To those impossibilities, which nothing But love and valour durst have attempted, Why then, methinks, 'tis strange, yea, very strange, Thus in a moment t' have flung all nature off And all religion; and that, sir, against you, Whom we all well know and think with fear (But our fading hopes spring fresh from Plangus),