_Sal._ Let them flow on; she weeps for more than one, And is herself the cause of bitterer tears. _Sar._ Curséd be he who caused those tears to flow! _Sal._ Curse not thyself--millions do that already. 50 _Sar._ Thou dost forget thee: make me not remember I am a monarch. _Sal._ Would thou couldst! _Myr._ My sovereign, I pray, and thou, too, Prince, permit my absence. _Sar._ Since it must be so, and this churl has checked Thy gentle spirit, go; but recollect That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose An empire than thy presence. [_Exit_ MYRRHA. _Sal._ It may be, Thou wilt lose both--and both for ever! _Sar._ Brother! I can at least command myself, who listen To language such as this: yet urge me not 60 Beyond my easy nature. _Sal._ 'Tis beyond That easy--far too easy--idle nature, Which I would urge thee. O that I could rouse thee! Though 'twere against myself. _Sar._ By the god Baal! The man would make me tyrant. _Sal._ So thou art. Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice, The weakness and the wickedness of luxury, The negligence, the apathy, the evils Of sensual sloth--produce ten thousand tyrants, 70 Whose delegated cruelty surpasses The worst acts of one energetic master, However harsh and hard in his own bearing. The false and fond examples of thy lusts Corrupt no less than they oppress, and sap In the same moment all thy pageant power And those who should sustain it; so that whether A foreign foe invade, or civil broil Distract within, both will alike prove fatal: The first thy subjects have no heart to conquer; 80 The last they rather would assist than vanquish. _Sar._ Why, what makes thee the mouth-piece of the people? _Sal._ Forgiveness of the Queen, my sister wrongs; A natural love unto my infant nephews; Faith to the King, a faith he may need shortly, In more than words; respect for Nimrod's line; Also, another thing thou knowest not. _Sar._ What's that? _Sal._ To thee an unknown word. _Sar._ Yet speak it; I love to learn. _Sal._ Virtue. _Sar._ Not know the word! Never was word yet rung so in my ears-- 90 Worse than the rabble's shout, or splitting trumpet: I've heard thy sister talk of nothing else. _Sal._ To change the irksome theme, then, hear of vice. _Sar._ From whom?