O. TAI. Be more a man, shrink not beneath a weight So light a child may bear it; for, believe me, If my prophetic fear deceive me not, You'd done an act Spain should for ever praise, Had you kill'd Machiavel too. ANT. As how, good master--I must call you so? This is your livery. O. TAI. O, y' are a noble tailor. But to Machiavel-- It was my chance, being sent for by his wife To take the measure of their noble prisoner, Who, when I came, was busy being plac'd Into a room, where I might easily hear Them talk of crowns and kingdoms, And of two that should be partners in this End of Spain. GIO. Who were they? O. TAI. Machiavel and Raymond! At last Machiavel laugh'd, Saying: for this I made the governor To cross Antonio at the council-board; Knowing that one must, if not both, should die. ANT. Did he say this? O. TAI. He did, and added more, [and] under A feigned show of love to justice, [He] banished your sister. GIO. Is Evadne banish'd? O. TAI. She is; and, as I guess, to Flanders; Her woman too has left her. ANT. Nay, droop not, friend: host, pray, tell proud Mach'vel I have a sword left to chastise A traitor: come, let's go seek Evadne. GIO. O Antonio! the sudden grief almost distracts Thy friend; but come, let's go, each several [way,] And meet at Filford: if thou findest Evadne, Bear her unto the castle. [_Exit._ ANT. Farewell, good master. [_Exit._ O. TAI. O, you honour me. Bootless were all persuasions, they'll not stay. I'll to the king; this treason may become, Like a disease, out of the reach of physic, And may infect past cure, if let alone. [_Exit._ _Enter_ RAYMOND _and_ PHILIPPA. PHIL. Erect thy head, my Raymond; be more tall Than daring Atlas, but more safely wise: Sustain no burthen but the politic care Of being great: till thou achieve the city's Axletree, and wave it as thou list. RAY. Hast thou no skill in magic, that thou fall'st So just upon my thoughts? thy tongue is tipp'd Like nature's miracle, that draws the steel With unresisted violence: I cannot keep A secret to myself, but thy prevailing Rhetoric ravishes and leaves my breast Like to an empty casket, That once was bless'd with keeping of a jewel I durst not trust the air with, 'twas so precious: Pray, be careful. PHIL. You do not doubt me? RAY. No, were you a woman made of such coarse ingredients as the common, which in our trivial phrase we call mere women, I would not trust thee with a cause so weighty, that the discovery did endanger this--this hair that, when 'tis gone, a lynx's [eye] cannot miss it: but you are--I want expressions, 'tis not common words can speak you truly--you are more than woman. PHIL. My lord, you know my temper, and how to win upon my heart.