_King_. I told thee so my selfe, and told thee how:
But what's the reason that I have no helpe?
The Coffers of my Treasury are full,
Or, if they were not, tributary Christians
Bring in sufficient store to pay your fees,
If that you gape at.
2 _Phys_. Wilt please your Highnesse then to take this Cordiall?
Gold never truely did you good till now.
_King_. 'Tis gone.
2 _Phys_. My Lord, it was the perfectst tincture
Of Gold that ever any Art produc'd:
With it was mixt a true rare Quintessence
Extracted out of Orientall Bezar,[158]
And with it was dissolv'd the Magisteriall
Made of the Horne _Armenia_ so much boast of;
Which, though dull Death had usurp't Natures right,
Is able to create new life agen.
_King_. Why does it good on men and not on Kings?
We have the selfe-same passages for Nature
With mortall men; our pulses beate like theirs:
We are subiect unto passions as they are.
I finde it now, but to my griefe I finde,
Life stands not with us on such ticklish points,
What is't, because we are Kings, Life takes it leave
With greater state? No, no; the envious Gods
Maligne our happinesse. Oh that my breath had power
With my last words to blast their Deities.
1 _Phys_. The Cordiall that you tooke requires rest:
For healths sake, good my Lord, repose your selfe.
_King_. Yes, any thing for health; draw round the Curtaines.
_Dami_. Wee'le watch by him whilst you two doe consult.