_Fer._ Why is your Soverigns life then (In which you live, and in whose fall your honors, Your wealth, your pomp, your pride, and all must suffer) No better guarded? Oh my cruel Stars, That mark me out a King, raising me on This pinnacle of greatness, only to be The nearer blasting! _Vil._ What think you now _Castruccio_? Is not this a merry life? _Cast._ Still thou art couzen'd; It is a glorious royal discontentment; How bravely it becomes him! _Fer._ To be made The common Butt, for every slave to shoot at; No peace, no rest I take, but their alarms Beat at my heart: why do I live, or seek then, To add a day more to these glorious troubles? Or to what end when all I can arrive at, Is but the summing up of fears and sorrows? What power has my command, when from my bosom _Ascanio_, my most dear, and lov'd _Ascanio_, Was snatch'd, spite of my Will, spite of my Succor, And by mine own proud slave, retein'd most miserable? And still that villain lives to nip my pleasures, It being not within my power to reach him. _Ro[n]._ Time may restore all this; and would you hear Whose counsel never fail'd you. _Fer._ Tell me no more, I faint beneath the burthen of my cares; And yield my self most wretched. _Ron._ On my knees I beg it, mighty Sir, vouchsafe me hearing. _Fer._ Speak, speak, and I thus low, such is my fortune, Will hear what thou canst say. _Vil._ Look but on this, Has not a man that has but means to keep A Hawk, a Greyhound, and a Hunting Nag, More pleasure than this King? _Cast._ A dull fool still, Make me a King, and let me scratch with care, And see who'll have the better; give me rule Command, obedience, pleasure of a King, And let the Devil roar; The greatest corrosive A King can have, is of more precious tickling, And handled to the height, more dear delight, Than other mens whole lives, let 'em be safe too. _Vil._ Think of the mutinous people. _Cast._ Hang the people, Give me the pleasure, let me do all, awe all, Enjoy their Wives and States at my discretion, And peg 'em when I please, let the slaves mumble. _Vil._ But say they should be vex'd, and rise against thee? _Cast._ Let 'em rise, let 'em rise: give me the bridle here, And see if they can crack my girths: ah _Villio_, Under the Sun there's nothing so voluptuous As riding of this Monster, till he founder. _Fer._ Who's that so loud? _Cast._ I am dumb: is not this rare? Kings looks make _Pythagoreans_; is not this A happiness _Villio_? _Vil._ Yes, to put to silence A fawning sycophant.