'Tis the gods, 'the gods, that make us so.' They would not have their 'dooms withstood, whose holy wisdoms make our passions the way unto their justice.' And 'out of justice we must challenge nothing.' The gods reward, the gods punish: 'I am a man and dare not quarrel with divinity ... and you shall see me bear my crosses like a man.' It is the 'will of Heaven'; 'a decreed instant cuts off every life, for which to mourn is to repine.'[178] Similarly familiar is Beaumont's recurrent doctrine of the divinity of kings. "In that sacred word," says his Amintor of _The Maides Tragedy_,-- In that sacred word 'The King,' there lies a terror: what frail man Dares lift his hand against it? Let the gods Speak to him when they please; till when let us Suffer and wait. And again, to the monarch who has wronged him, There is Divinity about you, that strikes dead My rising passions; as you are my King I fall before you, and present my sword To cut mine own flesh, if it be your will. Of 'the breath of kings' Beaumont's fancy constructs ever new terrors: it is 'like the breath of gods'; it may blow men 'about the world.' But when a king is guilty, though he may boast that his breath 'can still the winds, uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling floods, and stop the floods of heaven,' some honest man is always to be found to say 'No; nor' can thy 'breath smell sweet itself if once the lungs be but corrupted.' Though the gods place kings 'above the rest, to be served, flattered, and adored,' kings may not 'article with the gods'-- On lustful kings Unlooked-for sudden deaths from Heaven are sent; But curs'd is he that is their instrument. Of 'this most perfect creature, this image of his Maker, well-squared man' Beaumont philosophizes much. Again and again he reminds us that 'the only difference betwixt man and beast is reason.' In the moment of guilty passion his Arbaces of _A King and No King_ cries: "Accursed man! Thou bought'st thy reason at too dear a rate, For thou hast all thy actions bounded in With curious rules, when every beast is free." And, in the moment of jealousy, Philaster laments, Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves With that we see not! Beaumont knows of no natural felicity or liberty more to be envied than that of the beast; and of no opprobrium more vile than that which likens man to lustful beast, or 'worse than savage beast.'