ACTUS TERTIUS.     

  

       [ACT III. SCENE 1.]     

                 [The Portuguese court.]                  Enter VICEROY OF PORTINGALE, NOBLES, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO. VICEROY. Infortunate condition of kings, Seated amidst so many helples doubts! First,we are plast vpon extreamest height, And oft supplanted with exceeding hate, But euer subiect to the wheele of chance; And at our highest neuer ioy we so As we doubt and dread our ouerthrow. So striueth not the waues with sundry winds As fortune toyleth in the affaires of kings, That would be feard, yet feare to be beloued, Sith feare and loue to kings is flatterie. For instance, lordings, look vpon your king, By hate depriued of his dearest sonne, The only hope of our successiue line. NOB. I had not thought that Alexandros hart Had beene enuenomde with such extreame hate; But now I see that words haue seuerall workes, And theres no credit in the countenance. VIL. No, for, my lord, had you beholde the traine That fained loue had coloured in his lookes When he in campe consorted Balthazar, Farre more inconstant had you thought the sunne, That howerly coasts the center of the earth, Then Alexandros purpose to the prince. VICE. No more, Villuppo! thou hast said enough, And with thy words thou saiest our wounded thoughts. Nor shall I longer dally with the world, Procrastinating Alexandros death. Goe, some of you, and fetch the traitor forth, That, as he is condemned, he may dye. Enter ALEXANDRO, with a NOBLE-MAN and HALBERTS. NOB. In such extreames will nought but patience serue. ALEX. But in extreames what patience shall I vse? Nor discontents it me to leaue the world, With whome there nothing can preuaile but wrong. NOB. Yet hope the best. ALEX. Tis heauen my hope:     As for the earth, it is too much infect To yeeld me hope of any of her mould. VICE. Why linger ye? bring froth that daring feend, And let him die for his accursed deed. ALEX. Not that I feare the extremitie of death—     For nobles cannot stoop to seruile feare—     Doo I, O king, thus discontented liue; But this, O this, torments my labouring soule, That thus I die suspected of a sinne Whereof, as Heauens haue knowne my secret thoughts, So am I free from this suggestion! VICE. No more, I say; to the tortures! when? Binde him, and burne his body in those flames, They binde him to the stake. That shall prefigure 

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