_Arcite._ Our Uncle _Creon_. _Pal._ He, A most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes Makes Heaven unfear'd, and villany assured Beyond its power: there's nothing, almost puts Faith in a Feavor, and deifies alone Voluble chance, who only attributes The faculties of other Instruments To his own Nerves and act; Commands men service, And what they win in't, boot and glory on; That fears not to [do] harm; good, dares not; Let The bloud of mine that's sibbe to him, be suckt From me with Leeches, let them break and fall Off me with that corruption. _Arc._ Clear spirited Cosin Let's leave his Court, that we may nothing share, Of his loud infamy: for our milk, Will relish of the pasture, and we must Be vile, or disobedient, not his kinsmen In blood, unless in quality. _Pal._ Nothing truer: I think the ecchoes of his shames have deaf't The ears of heav'nly Justice: widdows cries Descend again into their throats, and have not Due audience of the gods: _Valerius_. _Enter_ Valerius. _Val._ The King calls for you; yet be leaden-footed Till his great rage be off him. _Phebus_ when He broke his whipstock, and exclaim'd against The Horses of the Sun, but whisper'd to The loudness of his fury. _Pal._ Small winds shake him, But what's the matter? _Val. Theseus_ (who where he threats appals,) hath sent Deadly defiance to him, and pronounces Ruin to _Thebs_, who is at hand to seal The promise of his wrath. _Arc._ Let him approach: But that we fear the gods in him, he brings not A jot of terror to us; yet what man Thirds his own worth (the case is each of ours) When that his actions dregg'd, with mind assur'd 'Tis bad he goes about. _Pal._ Leave that unreason'd. Our services stand now for _Thebs_, not _Creon_, Yet to be neutral to him, were dishonor; Rebellious to oppose: therefore we must With him stand to the mercy of our Fate, Who hath bounded our last minute. _Arc._ So we must; Ist sed this wars afoot? or it shall be On fail of some condition. _Val._ 'Tis in motion The intelligence of state came in the instant With the defier. _P[a]l._ Let's to the King, who, were he A quarter carrier of that honor, which His enemy came in, the bloud we venture Should be as for our health, which were not spent, Rather laid out for purchase: but alas Our hands advanc'd before our hearts, what will The fall o' th' stroke do damage? _Arci._ Let th' event, That never-erring Arbitrator, tell us When we know all our selves, and let us follow The becking of our chance. [_Exeunt._ _Scena Tertia._ _Enter_ Perithous, Hippolita, Emilia. _Pir._ No further.