_Max._ I'll not hear you speak, her crime is plain; She owns her pride, which you perhaps may feign. She shall be prisoner till she bend her mind To that, which is for both of you designed. _Val._ You'll find it hard my free-born will to bound. _Max._ I'll find that power o'er wills, which heaven ne'er found. Free-will's a cheat in any one but me; In all but kings, 'tis willing slavery; An unseen fate which forces the desire; The will of puppets danced upon a wire. A monarch is The spirit of the world in every mind; He may match wolves to lambs, and make it kind. Mine is the business of your little fates; And though you war, like petty wrangling states, You're in my hand; and, when I bid you cease, You shall be crushed together into peace. _Val._ Thus by the world my courage will be prized; [_Aside._ Seeming to scorn, who am, alas, despised: Dying for love's, fulfilling honour's laws; A secret martyr, while I own no cause. [_Exit_ VAL. _Max._ Porphyrius, stay; there's some thing I would hear: You said you loved, and you must tell me where. _Por._ All heaven is to my sole destruction bent. [_Aside._ _Max._ You would, it seems, have leisure to invent. _Por._ Her name in pity, sir, I must forbear, Lest my offences you revenge on her. _Max._ My promise for her life I do engage. _Por._ Will that, sir, be remembered in your rage? _Max._ Speak, or your silence more my rage will move; 'Twill argue that you rival me in love. _Por._ Can you believe that my ambitious flame Should mount so high as Berenice's name? _Max._ Your guilt dares not approach what it would hide; But draws me off, and (lapwing-like) flies wide. 'Tis not my wife, but mistress, you adore: Though that affront, yet this offends me more. Who courts my wife, Does to my honour more injurious prove; But he, who courts my mistress, wrongs my love. _Por._ The Egyptian princess ne'er could move my heart. _Max._ You could not perish by a nobler dart. _Por._ Sir, I presume not beauties to compare; But in my eyes my princess is as fair. _Max._ Your princess! then it seems, though you deny Her name you love, you own her quality. _Por._ Though not by birth or title so, yet she, Who rules my heart, a princess is to me. _Max._ No, no; 'Tis plain that word you unawares did use, And told a truth which now you would excuse. Besides my wife and mistress, here are none, Who can the title of a princess own. _Por._ There is one more, Your daughter, sir: Let that your doubt remove. _Max._ But she is not that princess whom you love. _Por._ I named not love, though it might doubtful seem: She's fair, and is that princess I esteem.