Enter Zenarchus solus.
Zen. Oh my Tymethes! truest joy on earth! Hath thy fate prov'd so flinty? so perverse? To the sweete spring both of thy youth and hopes? This was Mazeres spight, that cursed Rivall, And if I faile not, his owne plot shall shower Vpon his bosome like a falling Tower.
My worthy Lord.Tyr. Oh, you should have seene us sooner.
Zen. Why my Lord!
Tyr. The quarters of your friend passed by in Triumph, A sight that I presume, had pleas'd you well.
Zen. I call a villaine to my fathers pleasure, No friend of mine, the sight had pleas'd me better, Had I not like Mazeres, run my hate Into the sinne before it grew to act; And kill'd it ere't had knotted: 'twas rare service, If your vex'd Majesty conceive it right, In politicke Mazeres, serving more In this discovery, his owne vicious malice Than any true peace that should make you perfect: Suffering the hatefull treason to be done He might have stopt in his confusion.Tyr. Most certaine.
Zen. Good your Majesty bethinke you In manly temper and considerate blood; Went he the way of loyalty, or your quiet, After he saw the courtesies exceed T' abuse your peace, and trust them with the deed?
Tyr. Oh no, none but a Traytor would have done it.
Zen. For my Lord, weigh't indifferently.
Tyr. I doe, I doe. 1760
Zen. What makes it heynous, burthen ome, and monstrous,
G 2 Fills