SOPHRONOS

From mine eyes, son, son of my care, my love, The joys that bid thee welcome, do too much speak me a child. Here thou still findest A Friend as noble ( Menaphon ) as when Thou leftest at thy departure. Noble Lord. You should have done this sooner, Aretus ; You were his Tutor, and could best discern His dispositions to inform them rightly. 'Tis excellent: we must all follow fashion, and entertain Shee-waiters. Letters are come from Crete, which do require A speedy restitution of such ships, As by your Father were long since detained; If not; defiance threatened. Through your Land Your subjects mutter strangely, and imagine More then they dare speak publicly. For my partly (Sir) I will be plain, and brief: I think you are of Nature mild and easy, Not willingly provoked, but withal headstrong In any passion that misleads your Judgement. I think you too indulgent to such motions, As spring out of your own affections, To old to be reformed, and yet too young To take fit council from your self, of what Is most amiss. We find him timely now let's learn the cause. Thus you conclude, that as the cause is doubt full, The cure must be impossible; and then Our Prince (poor Gentleman) is lost for ever, As well unto himself, as to his subjects. For reward, You shall make your own demand. Come, come, you shall not fear it. Yes, and grace it too Sir. For Corax else is umorous and testy. Enough, thou art a perfect Arts-man. Your presence, Great Sir, makes every room a Sanctuary. The Prince speaks t'ee, Niece. From the Prince, deer Brother, I present you this rich Relic, A Jewel he hath long worn in his bosom: Henceforth he bade me say, he does beseech you To call him son, for he will call you Father. It is and honour (brother) that a subject Cannot but entertain with thankful prayers. Be moderate in your loys, he will in person Confirm my errand, but commands my service. Our Commonwealth is sick: 'tis more then time That we should wake the Head thereof, who sleeps In the dull Lethargy of lost security. The Commons murmur, and the Nobles grieve, The Court is now turned Antic, and grows wild, While all the neighbouring Nations stand at gaze, And watch fit opportunity, to wreak Their joust conceived fury, on such injuries, As the late Prince, our living Master's Father, Committed against Laws of truth or honour. Intelligence comes flying in on all sides, Whilst the unsteady multitude presume, How that you, Aretus, and I, engross (Out of particular Ambition) Affairs of government, which I for my partly, Groan under, and am weary of. 'Tis to me a mystery, I understand it not. I never saw him so much distempered.