Volume 8 / Act 5 — ACT V.—SCENE I.

Sosib. And what have you determined? Cas. He shall die. Sosib. A wholesome resolution. Have you fixed The time? Cas. He daily dies, by hours and moments; All vital nourishment but air is wanting. Three rising days and two descending nights Have changed the face of heaven by turns, But brought no kind vicissitude to him; His state is still the same, with hunger pinched, Waiting the slow approaches of his death; Which, halting onwards, as his life goes back, Still gains upon his ground. Sosib. But ere fate reach him, The mercy of the king may interpose. You have the signet? Cas. Yes, in your despite. Sosib. Be not displeased,—suppose he should escape? Cas. Suppose he should have wings: impossible! Sosib. Yet, keepers have been bribed. To whom can Ptolemy Impute that crime, but you? Cas. He may; but let him if he dares.— Come, statesman, do not shuffle in your pace; You would expose me to the people's hatred, By hurrying on this act of violence: You know a little thing provokes the crowd Against a mistress; she's the public mark: Therefore content yourself; I will be safe, Nor shall the prisoner die a speedier death, Than what my doom decreed; unless the king Reverse his orders, by my messenger. Sosib. May I presume to ask you, whom you sent? Cas. Thy son, unknown to thee; for so I charged him; And this the promised hour of his return.—Nay, wonder not; I chose him with design, that, whatsoe'er The king ordains, you both should share the event, And stand or fall with me. Ponder on that, and leave me! Sosib. [Aside.] What can she mean? She neither kills, nor saves. [Exit Sosibius. Cas. Now tell me, heart, now answer for thyself! What wilt thou do, and what dost thou desire?— His life? No, he's ungrateful; or, his death? I tremble at that word.—What then? His love!— His love! my heart. What! by restraint and famine? Are these the means to compass thy design?— Revenge! My hand's so soft, his heart so hard, The blow recoils, and hurts me while I strike. Like the mad viper, scourged into a rage, I shoot into myself my fatal sting. Enter Mariner. Mar. The ship is ready, when you please to sail, And waits but your command: The wind stands fair. Cas. Be secret, and attend my farther pleasure.— [Gives him a Purse, and exit Mariner. So; this was time well managed: In three days To hire a vessel, put my wealth on board, Send off the observing son, and fool the father.— See him I will, to sound his last resolves, If love can soften him, or fear can bow. If both should fail, the ungrateful wretch shall find Rage has no bounds in slighted womankind. [Exit.