MADAN. He being away, far hence—and so none other— Not he—should share the knowledge? CAMBER. CAMBER. Surely not He. Knowest thou whither hence he went? MADAN. MADAN. God wot, No: haply toward some hidden paramour. CAMBER. CAMBER. And that should set not, for thy mother’s sake, And thine, the heart in thee on fire? MADAN. MADAN. An hour Is less than even the time wherein we take Breath to let loose the word that fain would break, And cannot, even for passion,—if we set An hour against the length of life: and yet Less in account of life should be those hours— Should be? should be not, live not, be not known, Not thought of, not remembered even as ours,— Whereon the flesh or fancy bears alone Rule that the soul repudiates for its own, Rejects and mocks and mourns for, and reclaims Its nature, none the ignobler for the shames That were but shadows on it—shed but shade And perished. If thy brother and king, my sire— CAMBER. CAMBER. No king of mine is he—we are equal, weighed Aright in state, though here his throne stand higher. MADAN.
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