overflows,
That no bank can command; as lasting
As boys’ gay bubbles, blown i’ th’ air and broken.
The wind is fix’d to thee; and sooner shall
The beaten mariner, with his shrill whistle,
Calm the loud murmur of the troubled main,
And strike it smooth again, than thy soul fall
To have peace in love with any: Thou art all
That all good men must hate; and if thy story
Shall tell succeeding ages what thou wert,
Oh, let it spare me in it, lest true lovers,
In pity of my wrongs, burn thy black legend,
And with their curses shake thy sleeping ashes.

Tigr. Oh! oh!

Spa. The destinies, I hope, have pointed out
Our ends alike, that thou may’st die for love,
Though not for me; for, this assure thyself,
The princess hates thee deadly, and will sooner
Be won to marry with a bull, and safer,
Than such a beast as thou art.—I have struck,
I fear, too deep; beshrew me for it!—Sir,
This sorrow works me, like a cunning friendship,
Into the same piece with it.—He’s ashamed!
Alas, I have been too rugged.—Dear my lord,
I am sorry I have spoken anything,
Indeed I am, that may add more restraint
To that too much you have. Good sir, be pleased
To think it was a fault of love, not malice;
And do as I will do, forgive it, prince.
I do and can forgive the greatest sins
To me you can repent of. Pray believe.

Tig. Oh, my Spaconia! Oh, thou virtuous woman!

Spa. No more; the king, sir.

Enter ARBACES, BACURIUS, and MARDONIUS.

Arb. Have you been careful of our noble prisoner,
That he want nothing fitting for his greatness?

Bac. I hope his grace will quit me for my care, sir.

Arb. ’Tis well.—Royal Tigranes, health!

Tigr. More than the strictness of this place can give, sir,
I offer back again to great Arbaces.

Arb. We thank you, worthy prince; and pray excuse us,
We have not seen you since your being here.
I hope your noble usage has been equal
With your own person: Your imprisonment,
If it be any, I dare say, is easy;
And shall not out-last two days.

Tigr. I thank you.
My usage here has been the same it was,
Worthy a royal conqueror. For my restraint,
It came unkindly, because much unlook’d for;
But I must bear it.

Arb. What lady’s that, Bacurius?

Bac. One of the princess’ women, sir.

Arb. I fear’d it.
Why comes she hither?

Bac. To speak with the prince Tigranes.

Arb. From whom, Bacurius?

Bac. From the princess, sir.

Arb. I knew I had seen her.

Mar. His fit begins to take him now again. ’Tis a strange fever, and ’twill shake us all anon, I fear. ’Would he were well cured of this raging folly: Give me the wars, where men are mad, and may talk what they list, and held the bravest fellows; this pelting prating peace is good for nothing: Drinking’s a virtue to’t.