The Same. The Senate House. |
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The Senate sitting. |
First Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's |
Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die; |
Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. |
Sec. Sen. Most true; the law shall bruise him. |
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Enter ALCIBIADES, attended. |
Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the senate! |
First Sen. Now, captain. |
Alcib. I am a humble suitor to your virtues; |
For pity is the virtue of the law, |
And none but tyrants use it cruelly. |
It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy |
Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, |
Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth |
To those that without heed do plunge into 't. |
He is a man, setting his fate aside, |
Of comely virtues; |
Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice,— |
An honour in him which buys out his fault,— |
But, with a noble fury and fair spirit, |
Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, |
He did oppose his foe; |
And with such sober and unnoted passion |
He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, |
As if he had but prov'd an argument. |
First Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, |
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: |
Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd |
To bring manslaughter into form, and set quarrelling |
Upon the head of valour; which indeed |
Is valour misbegot, and came into the world |
When sects and factions were newly born. |
He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer |
The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs |
His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, |
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, |
To bring it into danger. |
If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill, |
What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill! |
Alcib. My lord,— |
First Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear; |
To revenge is no valour, but to bear. |
Alcib. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, |
If I speak like a captain. |
Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, |
And not endure all threats? sleep upon 't, |
And let the foes quietly cut their throats |
Without repugnancy? If there be |
Such valour in the bearing, what make we |
Abroad? why then, women are more valiant |
That stay at home, if bearing carry it, |
And the ass more captain than the lion, the felon |
Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, |
If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords! |
As you are great, be pitifully good: |
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? |
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; |
But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. |
To be in anger is impiety; |
But who is man that is not angry? |
Weigh but the crime with this. |
Sec. Sen. You breathe in vain. |
Alcib. In vain! his service done |
At Lacedæmon and Byzantium |
Were a sufficient briber for his life. |
First Sen. What's that? |
Alcib. I say, my lords, he has done fair service, |
And slain in fight many of your enemies. |
How full of valour did he bear himself |
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! |
Sec. Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em; |
He's a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often |
Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner; |
If there were no foes, that were enough |
To overcome him; in that beastly fury |
He has been known to commit outrages |
And cherish factions; 'tis inferr'd to us, |
His days are foul and his drink dangerous. |
First Sen. He dies. |
Alcib. Hard fate! he might have died in war. |
My lords, if not for any parts in him,— |
Though his right arm might purchase his own time, |
And be in debt to none,—yet, more to move you, |
Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both; |
And, for I know your reverend ages love |
Security, I'll pawn my victories, all |
My honour to you, upon his good returns. |
If by this crime he owes the law his life, |
Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore; |
For law is strict, and war is nothing more. |
First Sen. We are for law; he dies: urge it no more, |
On height of our displeasure. Friend, or brother, |
He forfeits his own blood that spills another. |
Alcib. Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, |
I do beseech you, know me. |
Sec. Sen. How! |
Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. |
Third Sen. What! |
Alcib. I cannot think but your age has forgot me; |
It could not else be I should prove so base, |
To sue, and be denied such common grace. |
My wounds ache at you. |
First Sen. Do you dare our anger? |
'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect; |
We banish thee for ever. |
Alcib. Banish me! |
Banish your dotage; banish usury, |
That makes the senate ugly. |
First Sen. If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee, |
Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, |
He shall be executed presently. [Exeunt Senators. |
Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough; that you may live |
Only in bone, that none may look on you! |
I am worse than mad: I have kept back their foes, |
While they have told their money and let out |
Their coin upon large interest; I myself |
Rich only in large hurts: all those for this? |
Is this the balsam that the usuring senate |
Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment! |
It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; |
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, |
That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up |
My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. |
'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; |
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. [Exit. |
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