_Enter_ RINATUS, EUBULUS, _and_ ANAMEDES.
EPH. Sit down, my lords, we have business with you
Requires your hands and hearts, both speed and counsel.
Our danger's such, that I could wish't had flown
Upon us without warning, for so cross the fates are,
Our safety must be bought at such a price,
That we must lose what is as dear to us
Almost as it. 'Tis Plangus' death or mine
Must secure the other's life. Nay, startle not:
If I am grown as wearisome to you as
To him, your calling is in vain, my lords;
Nor shall I labour longer to preserve
A life denied me by the gods and you.
But if there's any here who hath a son
Brought to these years with so much care and love
As mine hath been, think what a grief it is
To lose him, and shed one tear with me.
But for that son to plume himself with feathers
Pluck'd from his father's wings, would melt one's eyeballs.
Yet Plangus, who hath vizarded his ends with virtue,
Finding it useless now, hath thrown it from him,
And openly attempts my crown and life.
When mischief's wheel once runs, how fast it speeds
Headlong to put in act the blackest deeds!
Were my crown his, had he my life to give,
Though he would let me, I would scorn to live.
EUB. Sir, we are called upon a great affair, and if it
Be true, the speed of our resolves
Shall be as great as it.
Your majesty hath reign'd so happily and long,
We will not think a time beyond it.
And such, so great your virtue still hath been,
Strangers have been enamour'd, and admir'd it.
Our enemies, that could have wish'd it less,
Yet have sat down with envy, nor attempted
Aught against you, knowing (I am confident)
By such unjust attempts the gods would be
Their foes. Methinks 'tis therefore much less likely
That Plangus, who hath hitherto been found
A miracle of filial piety, and one
That we may say was born the heir to all
Your virtues, all your goodness, as well as
The kingdom; who counts it glory as much
To be an honest man as a great prince:
I say, for him who, as he is your son,
And as we hitherto have found him full
Of worth and honour, we cannot but behold
As him in whom the spreading hopes of all
Iberia grow, and promise to themselves
A still green happiness, that ne'er shall know,
What autumn or a naked winter means.
For him that hath scarce yet put off
Those clothes, which still wear the badges
Of the great danger he was in, not for
Himself, my liege, but you and us; for had
He wish'd the ruin of his father and his country,
The Argives would have done that for him,
And he not have been call'd in question.
But when we must remember with what wings
He flew to meet the torrent, both against
The counsel of his friends and his own hopes;
How love to you and us spurr'd him on forward
To those impossibilities, which nothing
But love and valour durst have attempted,
Why then, methinks, 'tis strange, yea, very strange,
Thus in a moment t' have flung all nature off
And all religion; and that, sir, against you,
Whom we all well know and think with fear
(But our fading hopes spring fresh from Plangus),
Must shortly pay your tribute to the grave.
Nor that we doubt your majesty hath cause
To apprehend a danger; only 'tis wish'd,
Those who inform'd you were examin'd strictly,
And Plangus sent for to answer for himself.
Slanders, like mists, still vanish at the sight
Of innocents, who bring their lies to light.
EPH. If an oration could have made him clear,
No doubt my fears are vain, and we shall lie
Still sleeping in security as great
And lasting as Plangus and his accomplices
Can wish upon us, nor wake till we are bound
In the securest chains, death's fetters.
That I am old is true, and Plangus knows it.
He would have catch'd a cannon-bullet sooner
Else 'tween his naked hands, than have provok'd
My fury: but [old] age hath froze[n] me
To an icy numbness: yet shall he know
My veins have fire as well as his, and when
Incens'd, my eyes shoot as much poison too.
What you allege about his battle 'gainst the Argives
As an excuse, it is a proof against him.
Though thieves rob others, yet they fight themselves
For those that rob, when strangers set on them,
And all unite against a common enemy.
Had Plangus' private interest not held
Him to us, no doubt he'd [have] left us naked
Of all defence; but an intestine fury,
To see the Argives bear away the fruits
Of all his labours, all his treasons,
Shot him into despair, and made him play
A game was almost lost, rather than give all o'er.
Besides, that action hath endear'd him to the people;
Gain'd him the soldiers' hearts with so great ease,
The danger's nothing in respect o' th' rise
He takes from hence to climb up to his ends.
And for the virtue that hath gull'd us all,
I'd blush to speak it, that a son of mine
Should ever be so base to seek a cloak
For what he doth, but that I have disclaim'd
All my relations to him, and would adopt
A cannibal sooner for a son than he.
The evidence we have is what we wish were less,
Then might I hug my Plangus, and he me;
But since the Fates and his own ills deny
That intercourse, what can remain,
But that we should proceed to sentence
Speedy as themselves, and stop the ill, which may
Strike when 'tis night, or while 'tis call'd to-day?
He knows his guilt too well, and hath denied
To come, that so he might be justified:
Once disobey'd as father, the next thing
Will be rebellion to me as his king.