_Sar._ Why, if I thought so-- But no, it cannot be: the Mede Arbaces-- The trusty, rough, true soldier--the best captain Of all who discipline our nations----No, I'll not insult him thus, to bid him render The scimitar to me he never yielded Unto our enemies. Chief, keep your weapon. _Sal._ (_delivering back the signet_). Monarch, take back your signet. _Sar._ No, retain it; But use it with more moderation. _Sal._ Sire, 200 I used it for your honour, and restore it Because I cannot keep it with my own. Bestow it on Arbaces. _Sar._ So I should: He never asked it. _Sal._ Doubt not, he will have it, Without that hollow semblance of respect. _Bel._ I know not what hath prejudiced the Prince So strongly 'gainst two subjects, than whom none Have been more zealous for Assyria's weal. _Sal._ Peace, factious priest, and faithless soldier! thou Unit'st in thy own person the worst vices 230 Of the most dangerous orders of mankind. Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies For those who know thee not. Thy fellow's sin Is, at the least, a bold one, and not tempered By the tricks taught thee in Chaldea. _Bel._ Hear him, My liege--the son of Belus! he blasphemes The worship of the land, which bows the knee Before your fathers. _Sar._ Oh! for that I pray you Let him have absolution. I dispense with The worship of dead men; feeling that I 240 Am mortal, and believing that the race From whence I sprung are--what I see them--ashes. _Bel._ King! Do not deem so: they are with the stars, And---- _Sar._ You shall join them ere they will rise, If you preach farther--Why, _this_ is rank treason. _Sal._ My lord! _Sar._ To school me in the worship of Assyria's idols! Let him be released-- Give him his sword. _Sal._ My Lord, and King, and Brother, I pray ye pause. _Sar._ Yes, and be sermonised, And dinned, and deafened with dead men and Baal, 250 And all Chaldea's starry mysteries. _Bel._ Monarch! respect them.