_Vir._ Had we serv'd our Countrey, Or honesties, as we have serv'd our follies, We had not been here now? _Asca._ 'Tis too true _Virolet_. _Vir._ And yet my end in vent'ring for your safety, Pointed at more than _Ferrant's_ Will, a base one; Some service for mine own, some for my Nation, Some for my friend; but I am rightly paid, That durst adventure such a noble office, From the most treacherous command of mischief; You know him now? _Asca._ And when I nearer knew him, Then when I waited, Heaven be witness with me, (And if I lie my miseries still load me) With what tears I have wooed him, with what prayers. What weight of reasons I have laid, what dangers; Then, when the peoples curses flew like storms; And every tongue was whetted to defame him, To leave his doubts, his tyrannies, his slaughters, His fell oppressions: I know I was hated too. _Vir._ And all mankind that knew him: these confessions Do no good to the world, to heaven they may. Let's study to die well, we have liv'd like coxcombs. _Asca._ That my misfortune, should lose you too. _Vir._ Yes; And not only me, but many more, and better: For my life, 'tis not this; or might I save yours, And some brave friends I have engag'd, let me go; It were the meritorious death I wish for, But we must hang or drown like whelps. _Asca._ No remedy. _Vir._ On my part I expect none. I know the man, And know he has been netled to the quick too, I know his nature. _Asca._ A most cruel nature. _Vir._ His wrongs have bred him up. I cannot blame him. _Asca._ He has a daughter too, the greatest scorner, And most insulter upon misery. _Vir._ For those, they are toys to laugh at, not to lead men: A womans mirth or anger, like a meteor Glides and is gone, and leaves no crack behind it; Our miseries would seem like masters to us, And shake our manly spirits into feavers, If we respected those; the more they glory. And raise insulting Trophies on our ruines; The more our virtues shine in patience. Sweet Prince, the name of death was never terrible To him that knew to live; nor the loud torrent Of all afflictions, singing as they swim, A gall of heart, but to a guilty conscience: Whilst we stand fair, though by a two-edg'd storm, We find untimely falls, like early Roses; Bent to the earth, we bear our native sweetness. _Asca._ Good Sir go on.