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Ev'n when I show'd the greatest want of rev'rence
Alex. Lysimachus, we both have been transported :
Lys. I have no wounds, dread sir, or if I had,
Clyt. On, monstrous vanity!
Alex. By my kindred gods
Clyt. I've done.
Clyt. Sir, the wine, the weather,
Alex. Oh, 'tis not well! I'd rather perish, burn,
Clyt. So would I
here. Fill me another bowl. Will you excuse med
alex. You will be excused : But let him have his humour; he is old.
Clyt. So was your father, sir ; this to his memory: Sound all the trumpets there.
Alex. They shall not sound
Lys. Nay, Clytus, you that could advise so well
Alex. Let him persist, be positive, and proud,
Clyt. When gods grow hot no difference I know, 'Twixt them and devils-Fill me Greek wine-yet Yet fuller-I want spirits.
Alex. Let me have music.
Clyt. Music for boys-Clytus would hear the groans Of dying soldiers and the neigh of steeds; Or, if I must be pester'd with shrill sounds, Give me the cries of matrons in sack'd towns,
Heph. Let us, Lysimachus, awake the king ; A heavy gloom is gath'ring on his brow. Kneel all, with humblest adoration kneel, And let a health to Jove's great son go round.
Alex. Sound, sound, that all the universe may hear.
[ A loud flourish of Trumpets. Oh, for the voice of Jovel the world should know The kindness of my people-Risel oh risel My hands, my arms, my heart, are ever yours.
Clyt. I did not kiss the earth, nor must your hand I am unworthy, sir.
Alex. I know thou art:
Heph. A chief so great, so fortunately brave,
Lys. Such was not Cyrus, or the fam'd Alcides,
Alex. Oh, you flatter me!
Clyt. They do indeed, and yet you love them for't, But hate old Clytus for his hardy virtue. Come, shall I speak a man with equal bravery, A better general, and experter soldier? Alex. I should be glad to learn : instruct me,
sir. Clyt. Your father Philip I have seen him march, And fought beneath his dreadful banner, where
The boldest at this table would have trembled.
Alex. All envy, spite and envy, by the gods !
Lys. Wine has transported him.
Alex. No, 't is mere malice. I was a woman too at Oxydrace, When planting on the walls a scaling ladder I mounted, spite of showers of stones, bars, arrows, And all the lumber which they thunder'd down. When
beneath cry'd out, and spread your arms, That I should leap among you-did I so?
Lys. Dread sir, the old man knows not what he says.
Alex. Was I woman when, like Mercury,
'Till spent with toil I battled on my knees,
Clyt. 'Twas all bravado ; for before you leap'd
vig'rous ! That I might strike thee prostrate to the earth, For this audacious lie, thou feebled dotardı
Clyt. I know the reason why you use me thus : I sav'd you from the sword of bold Rhesaces, Else had your godship slumber'd in the dust, And most ungratefully you hate me for it. Alex. Hence from the banquet : thus far I forgive
thee. Clyt. First try (for none can want forgiveness more) To have your own bold blasphemies forgiv'n, The shameful riots of a vicious life, Philotas' murder
Alex. Hal what said the traitor ?
Heph. Clytus, withdraw; Eumenes, force him hence: He must not tarry: drag him to the door.
Clyt. No, let him send me if I must be gone,
Alex. Give me a javelin.