Classic Poem

[Sound Music.]

[Enter the King of Valentia, Anselmo, Roderigo,
Lord Borachius, with others.]

KING OF VALENTIA.
Enough of Music, it but adds to torment;
Delights to vexed spirits are as Dates
Set to a sickly man, which rather cloy than comfort:
Let me entreat you to entreat no more.

RODERIGO.
Let your strings sleep; have done there.

[Let the music cease.]

KING OF VALENTIA.
Mirth to a soul disturb'd are embers turn'd,
Which sudden gleam with molestation,
But sooner loose their sight fort;
Tis Gold bestowed upon a Rioter,
Which not relieves, but murders him: Tis a Drug
Given to the healthful, Which infects, not cures.
How can a Father that hath lost his Son,
A Prince both wise, virtuous, and valiant,
Take pleasure in the idle acts of Time?
No, no; till Mucedorus I shall see again,
All joy is comfortless, all pleasure pain.

ANSELMO.
Your son my lord is well.

KING OF VALENTIA.
I pre-thee, speak that thrice.

ANSELMO.
The Prince, you Son, is safe.

KING OF VALENTIA.
O where, Anselmo? surfeit me with that.

ANSELMO.
In Aragon, my Liege;
And at his parture, Bound my secrecy,
By his affectious love, not to disclose it:
But care of him, and pity of your age,
Makes my tongue blab what my breast vow'd
concealment.

KING OF VALENTIA.
Thou not deceivest me?
I ever thought thee What I find thee now,
An upright, loyal man. But what desire,
Or young-fed humour Nurst within the brain,
Drew him so privately to Aragon?

ANSELMO.
A forcing Adamant:
Love, mixt with fear and doubtful jealousy,
Whether report guilded a worthless trunk,
Or Amadine deserved her high extolment.

KING OF VALENTIA.
See our provision be in readiness;
Collect us followers of the comeliest hue
For our chief guardians, we will thither wend:
The crystal eye of Heaven shall not thrice wink,
Nor the green Flood six times his shoulders turn,
Till we salute the Aragonian King.
Music speak loudly now, the season's apt,
For former dolours are in pleasure wrapt.

[Exeunt omnes.]