_Dio._ Suppose this done, or were it possible I could rise higher still, I am a man, And all these glories, Empires heap'd upon me, Confirm'd by constant friends, and faithful Guards, Cannot defend me from a shaking Feaver, Or bribe the uncorrupted Dart of Death To spare me one short minute. Thus adorn'd In these triumphant Robes, my body yields not A greater shadow, than it did when I Liv'd both poor and obscure; a Swords sharp point Enters my flesh as far; dreams break my sleep As when I was a private man; my passions Are stronger tyrants on me; nor is Greatness A saving Antidote to keep me from A Traytors poyson. Shall I praise my fortune, Or raise the building of my happiness On her uncertain favour? or presume She is mine own, and sure, that yet was never Constant to any? Should my reason fail me (As flattery oft corrupts it) here's an example, To speak how far her smiles are to be trusted; The rising Sun, this morning, saw this man The _Persian_ Monarch, and those Subjects proud That had the honour but to kiss his feet; And yet e're his diurnal progress ends, He is the scorn of Fortune: but you'll say, That she forsook him for his want of courage, But never leaves the bold. Now by my hopes Of peace and quiet here, I never met A braver Enemy; and to make it good, _Cosroe_, _Cassana_ and the rest, be free, And ransomless return. _Cos._ To see this vertue Is more to me than Empire; and to be O'rcome by you, a glorious victory. _Max._ What o' Devil means he next? _Dio._ I know that glory Is like _Alcides_'s Shirt, if it stay on us Till pride hath mixt it with our blood; nor can we Part with it at pleasure: when we would uncase, It brings along with it both flesh and sinews, And leaves us living Monsters. _Max._ Would it were come To my turn to put it on: I'd run the hazard.