_Sar._ And do not I? I love thee far--far more Than either the brief life or the wide realm, Which, it may be, are menaced;--yet I blench not. _Myr._ That means thou lovest nor thyself nor me; For he who loves another loves himself, Even for that other's sake. This is too rash: Kingdoms and lives are not to be so lost. _Sar._ Lost!--why, who is the aspiring chief who dared Assume to win them? _Myr._ Who is he should dread 490 To try so much? When he who is their ruler Forgets himself--will they remember him? _Sar._ Myrrha! _Myr._ Frown not upon me: you have smiled Too often on me not to make those frowns Bitterer to bear than any punishment Which they may augur.--King, I am your subject! Master, I am your slave! Man, I have loved you!-- Loved you, I know not by what fatal weakness, Although a Greek, and born a foe to monarchs-- A slave, and hating fetters--an Ionian, 500 And, therefore, when I love a stranger, more Degraded by that passion than by chains! Still I have loved you. If that love were strong Enough to overcome all former nature, Shall it not claim the privilege to save you? _Sar._ _Save_ me, my beauty! Thou art very fair, And what I seek of thee is love--not safety. _Myr._ And without love where dwells security? _Sar._ I speak of woman's love. _Myr._ The very first Of human life must spring from woman's breast, 510 Your first small words are taught you from her lips, Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighs Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing, When men have shrunk from the ignoble care Of watching the last hour of him who led them. _Sar._ My eloquent Ionian! thou speak'st music: The very chorus of the tragic song I have heard thee talk of as the favourite pastime Of thy far father-land. Nay, weep not--calm thee. _Myr._ I weep not.--But I pray thee, do not speak 520 About my fathers or their land. _Sar._ Yet oft Thou speakest of them. _Myr._ True--true: constant thought Will overflow in words unconsciously; But when another speaks of Greeks, it wounds me. _Sar._ Well, then, how wouldst thou _save_ me, as thou saidst? _Myr._ By teaching thee to save thyself, and not Thyself alone, but these vast realms, from all The rage of the worst war--the war of brethren. _Sar._ Why, child, I loathe all war, and warriors; I live in peace and pleasure: what can man 530 Do more? _Myr._ Alas! my Lord, with common men There needs too oft the show of war to keep The substance of sweet peace; and, for a king, 'Tis sometimes better to be feared than loved.