_King_. Because I was a Boy, must I be still so? Time, Sir, has given me in that formal Ceremony, And I am of an age to rule alone; And from henceforth discharge you of your Care. We know your near relation to this Crown, And wanting Heirs, that you must fill the Throne; Till when, Sir, I am absolute Monarch here, And you must learn Obedience. _Men_. Pardon my zealous Duty, which I hope You will approve, and not recal his Banishment. _King_. Sir, but I will; and who dares contradict It, is a Traitor. _Phil_. I dare the first, yet do defy the last. _King_. My hot-brain’d Sir, I’ll talk to you anon. _Men_. Sir, I am wrong’d, and will appeal to _Rome_. _Phil_. By Heav’n, I’ll to the Camp--Brother, farewel, When next I meet thee, it shall be in Arms, If thou can’st get loose from thy Mistress’ Chains, Where thou ly’st drown’d in idle wanton Love. _Abd_. Hah--his Mistress--who is’t Prince _Philip_ means? _Phil_. Thy Wife, thy Wife, proud Moor, whom thou’rt content To sell for Honour to eternal Infamy-- Does’t make thee snarl?--Bite on, whilst thou shalt see, I go for Vengeance, and ‘twill come with me. [_Going out, turns and draws_. _Abd_. Stay! for ‘tis here already--turn, proud Boy. [Abd. _draws_. _King_. What mean you, _Philip_?--[_Talks to him aside_. _Qu_. Cease, cease your most impolitick Rage. [_To_ Abd. Is this a time to shew’t?--Dear Son, you are a King, And may allay this Tempest. _King_. How dare you disobey my Will and Pleasure? [_To_ Abd. _Abd_. Shall I be calm, and hear my Wife call’d Whore? Were he great _Jove_, and arm’d with all his Lightning, By Heav’n, I could not hold my just Resentment. _Qu_. ‘Twas in his Passion, noble _Abdelazer_-- [King _talking to_ Phil. _aside_. Imprudently thou dost disarm thy Rage, And giv’st the Foe a warning, e’er thou strik’st; When with thy Smiles thou might’st securely kill. You know the Passion that the Cardinal bears me; His Pow’r too o’er _Philip_, which well manag’d Will serve to ruin both: put up your Sword-- When next you draw it, teach it how to act. _Abd_. You shame me, and command me. _Qu_. Why all this Rage?--does it become you, Sir? [_To_ Men. _aside_. What is’t you mean to do? _Men_. You need not care, whilst _Abdelazer’s_ safe. _Qu_. Jealousy, upon my Life--how gay it looks! _Men_. Madam, you want that pitying Regard To value what I do, or what I am; I’ll therefore lay my Cardinal’s Hat aside, And in bright Arms demand my Honour back. _Qu_. Is’t thus, my Lord, you give me Proofs of Love? Have then my Eyes lost all their wonted Power? And can you quit the hope of gaining me, To follow your Revenge?--go--go to fight, Bear Arms against your Country, and your King, All for a little worthless Honour lost. _Men_. What is it, Madam, you would have me do? _Qu_. Not side with _Philip_, as you hope my Grace-- Now, Sir, you know my Pleasure, think on’t well.