_So._ Straight for the king. I fly Where misery shall see nought but itself. Dear Zanthia, close the vault when I am sunk, And whilst he slips to bed, escape; be true; I can no more; come to me. Hark, gods, my breath Scorns to crave life, grant but a well-famed death. 170 [_She descends._ _Enter_ SYPHAX, _ready for bed, with attendants_. _Sy._ Each man withdraw, let not a creature stay Within large distance. _Zan._ Sir! _Sy._ Hence, Zanthia! Not thou shalt hear; all stand without ear-reach Of the soft cries nice shrinking brides do yield, When---- _Zan._ But, sir---- _Sy._ Hence!--stay, take thy delight by steps, Think of thy joys, and make long thy pleasures. O silence, thou dost swallow pleasure right; Words take away some sense from our delight. Music! 180 Be proud, my Venus; Mercury, thy tongue; Cupid, thy flame; 'bove all, O Hercules, Let not thy back be wanting; for now I leap To catch the fruit none but the gods should reap. [_Offering to leap into bed, he discovers_ VANGUE. Hah! can any woman turn to such a devil? Or--or--Vangue, Vangue---- _Van._ Yes, yes. _Sy._ Speak, slave! How camest thou here? _Van._ Here? _Sy._ Zanthia, Zanthia! Where's Sophonisba? speak at full--at full. Give me particular faith, or know thou art not---- _Zan._ Your pardon, just-moved prince, and private ear. 190 _Sy._ Ill actions have some grace, that they can fear. _Van._ How came I laid? which way was I made drunk? Where am I? think I, or is my state advanced? O Jove, how pleasant is it but to sleep, In a king's bed! _Sy._ Sleep there thy lasting sleep, Improvident, base, o'er-thirsty slave. [SYPHAX _kills_ VANGUE. Die pleased, a king's couch is thy too-proud grave.-- Through this vault say'st thou? _Zan._ As you give me grace To live, 'tis true. _Sy._ We will be good to Zanthia; Go, cheer thy lady, and be private to us. 200 _Zan._ As to my life. [_She descends after_ SOPHONISBA. _Sy._ I'll use this Zanthia, And trust her as our dogs drink dangerous Nile[346] (Only for thirst), that[347] fly the crocodile. Wise Sophonisba knows love's tricks of art: Without much hindrance pleasure hath no heart. Despite all virtue or weak plots I must: Seven-wallèd Babel cannot bar[348] out lust. [_Descends through the vault._ [335] In the old eds. is the direction--"_Organ mixt with recorders for this Act_." [336] So ed. 1.--Ed. 2. "_twound_." [337] Ed. 1. "of good men shame." [338] Ed. 1. "O save thine owne (yet) fame." [339] Old eds. "beare." [340] Quy. "feeble"? [341] Ed. 1. "is."