_Phi_. If you had my eyes Sir, and sufferance,
My griefs upon you and my broken fortunes,
My want's great, and now nought but hopes and fears,
My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laught at.
Dare you be still my King and right me not?

_King_. Give me your wrongs in private.

[_They whisper_.

_Phi_. Take them, and ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas.

_Di_. He dares not stand the shock.

_Di_. I cannot blame, him, there's danger in't. Every man
in this age, has not a soul of Crystal for all men to
read their actions through: mens hearts and faces are
so far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. Do but
view yon stranger well, and you shall see a Feaver
through all his bravery, and feel him shake like a true
Tenant; if he give not back his Crown again, upon the
report of an Elder Gun, I have no augury.

_King_. Go to:
Be more your self, as you respect our favour:
You'I stir us else: Sir, I must have you know
That y'are and shall be at our pleasure, what fashion we
Will put upon you: smooth your brow, or by the gods.

_Phi_. I am dead Sir, y'are my fate: it was not I