_Queen_. Have I deposited within thy breast The dearest treasure of my life, my glory, And hast thou thus betrayed me! But why do I accuse thy female weakness, And not my own, for trusting thee! Unhappy queen, Philocles knows thy fondness, And needs must think it done by thy command. _Ast_. Dear madam, think not so. _Queen_. Peace, peace, thou should'st for ever hold thy tongue: For it has spoke too much for all thy life. [_To her_. Then Philocles has told Candiope, And courts her kindness with his scorn of me. O whither am I fallen! But I must rouse myself, and give a stop To all these ills by headlong passion caused. In hearts resolved weak love is put to flight, And only conquers, when we dare not fight. But we indulge our harms, and, while he gains An entrance, please ourselves into our pains. _Enter_ LYSIMANTES. _Ast_. Prince Lysimantes, madam. _Queen_. Come near, you poor deluded criminal; See how ambition cheats you: You thought to find a prisoner here, But you behold a queen. _Lys_. And may you long be so! 'tis true, this act May cause some wonder in your majesty. _Queen_. None, cousin, none; I ever thought you Ambitious, proud, designing. _Lys_. Yet all my pride, designs, and my ambition, Were taught me by a master, With whom you are not unacquainted, madam. _Queen_. Explain yourself; dark purposes, like yours, Need an interpretation. _Lys_. 'Tis love, I mean. _Queen_. Have my low fortunes given thee This insolence, to name it to thy queen? _Lys_. Yet you have heard, love named without offence. As much below you as you think my passion, I can look down on yours. _Queen_. Does he know it too! This is the extremest malice of my stars! [_Aside_. _Lys_. You see that princes' faults, (Howe'er they think them safe from public view) Fly out thro the dark crannies of their closets: We know what the sun does, Even when we see him not, in t'other world. _Queen_. My actions, cousin, never feared the light. _Lys_. Produce him, then, your darling of the dark. For such an one you have. _Queen_. I know no such. _Lys_. You know, but will not own him. _Queen_. Rebels ne'er want pretence to blacken kings, And this, it seems, is yours: Do you produce him, Or ne'er hereafter sully my renown With this aspersion:--Sure he dare not name him. [_Aside_. _Lys_. I am too tender of your frame; or else-- Nor are things brought to that extremity: Provided you accept my passion, I'll gladly yield to think I was deceived. _Queen_. Keep in your error still; I will not buy Your good opinion at so dear a rate, And my own misery, by being yours. _Lys_. Do not provoke my patience by such scorns. For fear I break through all, and name him to you. _Queen_. Hope not to fright me with your mighty looks; Know, I dare stem that tempest in your brow, And dash it back upon you.