How dare the plants look up to heaven, from whence
They have their nourishment?
Thou know'st I have power
To take thy life from thee.
I have ground the axe myself;
Do you but strike the blow.
Rise, prithee, rise.
Sit down: thou art no flatterer:
I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid
That kings should
let their ears hear their
Fit counsellor and servant for a prince,
Who by thy wisdom makest a
prince thy servant,
What wouldst thou have me do?
To bear with patience
Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.
Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus,
That minister'st a potion unto me
That thou wouldst tremble
to receive thyself.
Attend me, then: I went to Antioch,
Where as thou know'st, against the face of death,
sought the purchase of a glorious beauty.
From whence an issue I might propagate,
Are arms to princes,
and bring joys to subjects.
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;
The resthark in thine earas black
Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father
Seem'd not to strike, but smooth: but thou
'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
Such fear so grew in me, I hither fled,
Under the covering
of a careful night,
Who seem'd my good protector; and, being here,
Bethought me what was past, what
I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants' fears
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years:
should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth,
That I should open to the listening air
How many worthy princes' bloods
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,
To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms,
make pretence of wrong that I have done him:
When all, for mine, if I may call offence,
Must feel war's
blow, who spares not innocence:
Which love to all, of which thyself art one,
Who now reprovest me for it,
Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,
Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts
might stop this tempest ere it came;
And finding little comfort to relieve them,
I thought it princely charity
to grieve them.
Well, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak.
Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,
too, I think, you fear the tyrant,
Who either by public war or private treason
Will take away your life.
my lord, go travel for a while,
Till that his rage and anger be forgot,
Or till the Destinies do cut his thread
Your rule direct to any; if to me.
Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be.
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