AND. Sir, give me leave to wonder What sin I have committed, which calling Down the vengeance of the gods, Hath made me author of all this blasphemy. Sir, I beseech your majesty, if you are angry With your creature, speak some cruel word and blast me. Scorn me not into the other world, where I have Sins enough of my own to blush for, and shall not need To dye his cheeks for other men's offences. KING. Lady, though Parthian darts are not so sharp As are those killing words; yet that breath, which Utters them is sweeter than the morning dew. I'll be dumb, for praises cannot add, but rather Diminish Andromana's worth. AND. I wonder now no longer at this language, 'Tis such as kings are bred in. But I beseech you, sir, if there be aught You will command your servant--if Andromana Must do or suffer anything for great Ephorbas, Lay by yourself a minute, and remember A merchant's wife must hear you. KING. Your husband Leon's dead, I hear, lady-- [_She weeps._ Nay, spare those pearls, madam; cast not away Such treasure upon the memory of one Who, if the best of men, deserves them not. Come, come, forget these sorrows, lady, And wear not mourning weeds before the world's Destruction; hide not those fair eyes, whose splendour Would enrich our court. Madam, though none There be in court can merit such a beauty, Yet I myself have taken pains to search A husband for you: what think you of myself? AND. Great sir, your care is, like yourself, all noble; But suits with me no better Than Phoebus' horses did with Phaeton, Ruin'd the world and him. First, sir, you do Debase yourself to honour her, whose worth Is less considerable than lovers' oaths: My husband's ashes are scarce cold yet, And would your majesty have me forsake My honour and his memory so soon? I have Not paid oblations due to's ashes yet. KING. You compliment away the worth we know You have, Andromana: what say you to the prince? AND. I say he is the prince, and great Ephorbas' son; He's Plangus: and if you think there yet remains A title that can be either better or greater, I think him worthy of it. KING. But dost [thou] think him worthy Andromana? AND. O heavens! Is Jove worth heav'n, Or doth the sun deserve to be a light To all the world? Can virtue deserve honour, Or labour riches? Can gods merit altars? It might have been a puzzling question To them whose ears have not been bless'd With Plangus' worth. But this is so below him---- KING. But say he loves thee? AND. I dare not say so: For when I think a prince pretends to such poor things As I am, I feel an ice runs through my veins, And my blood curdles into flakes of snow, And bids me fear him--not with an awe or reverence, But as a spotted sinful thing, which is The worse for being great. 'Tis such a fear, As I should conceive 'gainst an armed ravisher.