Chapter 5Act II, Scene 1

Act II The Palace in Antioch. Scene 1 A hall in the Palace. Cleone, Phayllus. PHAYLLUS Worry the conscience of the Queen to death Like the good bitch thou art. If this goes well, I may sit unobserved on Syria’s throne. CLEONE Do not forget me. PHAYLLUS Do not forget thyself, Then how shall I forget thee? CLEONE I shall remember. PHAYLLUS If for a game you were the queen, Cleone, And I your minister, how would you start Your play of reigning? CLEONE I would have many perfect tortures made To hurt the Parthian with, for every nerve

Rodogune A torture. I would lie in flowers the while Drinking sweet Cyprian wine and hear her moan. PHAYLLUS I do not like your thought; have better ones. CLEONE Shall I not satisfy my love, my hate? Then just as well I might not reign at all. PHAYLLUS O hatred, love and wrath, you instruments By which we are driven! Cleone, the gods use these For their own purposes, not we for ours. CLEONE I’ll do my will, Phayllus; you do yours. PHAYLLUS Our kingdom being won! It is not, yet. (turning away) She’s too violent for my calmer ends; Lust drives her, not ambition. I wait on you, You gods who choose. If Fate intends my rise, She will provide the instruments and cause. Timocles enters from the inner palace. TIMOCLES I think I am afraid to speak to her. I never felt so with the Egyptian girls In Thebes or Alexandria. Are you not Phayllus? PHAYLLUS You remember faces well And have the trick for names, the monarch’s trick.

Act II, Scene 1 TIMOCLES Antiochus, all say, will be the king. PHAYLLUS But I say otherwise and what I say Has a strange gift of happening. TIMOCLES You’re my friend! PHAYLLUS My own and therefore yours. TIMOCLES This is your sister? PHAYLLUS Cleone. TIMOCLES A name that in its sound agrees With Syria’s roses. Are you too my friend, Cleone? CLEONE Your subject, prince. TIMOCLES And why not both? CLEONE To serve is better. TIMOCLES Shall I try your will? (embracing her) Thou art warm fire against the lips, thou rose Cleone.

Rodogune CLEONE May I test in turn? TIMOCLES Oh, do! CLEONE A rose examines by her thorns, — as thus. She strikes him lightly on the cheek and goes out. TIMOCLES (looking uncertainly at Phayllus who is stroking his chin) It was a courtesy, — our Egyptian way. PHAYLLUS Hers was the Syrian. Do not excuse yourself; I am her brother. TIMOCLES (turns as if to go, hesitates, then comes back) Oh, have you met, Phayllus, A Parthian lady here named Rodogune? PHAYLLUS Blows the wind east? But if it brings me good, Let it blow where it will. I know the child. She’s fair. You’ld have her? TIMOCLES Fie on you, Phayllus! PHAYLLUS Prince, I have a plain tongue which, when I hunger, Owns that there is a belly. Speak in your language! I understand men’s phrases though I use them not. TIMOCLES Think not that evil! She is not like those, The common flowers which have a fair outside

Act II, Scene 1 Of beauty, but the common hand can pluck. We wear such lightly, smell and throw away. She is not like them. PHAYLLUS No? Yet were they all Born from one mother Nature. What if she wears The quick barbarian’s robe called modesty? There is a woman always in the end Behind that shimmering. Pluck the robe, ’twill fall; Then is she Nature’s still. TIMOCLES I have seen her eyes; they are a liquid purity. PHAYLLUS And yet a fish swims there which men call love, But truth names lust or passion. Fear not, prince; The fish will rise to such an angler’s cast. TIMOCLES Mistake me not, nor her. These things are done, But not with such as she; she is heaven-pure And must like heaven be by worship won. PHAYLLUS What is it then that you desire of her Or ask of me? I can do always much. TIMOCLES O nothing else but this, only to kneel, Look up at her and touch the little hand That fluttered like a moonlit butterfly Above my mother’s hair. If she consenting smiled A little, I might even dare so much.

Rodogune PHAYLLUS Why, she’s your slave-girl! TIMOCLES I shall kneel to her Some day and feel her hand upon my brow. PHAYLLUS What animal this is, I hardly know, But know it is the animal for me: My genius tells me. Prince, I need a bribe Before I’ll stir in this. TIMOCLES What bribe, Phayllus? PHAYLLUS A name, — your friend. TIMOCLES O more than merely friend! Bring me into the temple dim and pure Whence my own hopes and fears now bar me out, Then I am yours, Phayllus, you myself For all things. PHAYLLUS Remember me when you have any need. He goes out. TIMOCLES I have a friend! He is the very first Who was not conquered by Antiochus. How has this love like lightning leaped at me!