Delights to vexed spirits are as Dates Set to a sickly man, which rather cloy than comfort:

Let me entreat you to entreat no more.

RODERIGO.

Let your strings sleep; have done there.

[Let the music cease.]

KING OF VALENTIA.

Mirth to a soul disturb'd are embers turn'd, Which sudden gleam with molestation, But sooner loose their sight fort;Tis Gold bestowed upon a Rioter, Which not relieves, but murders him: Tis a Drug Given to the healthful, Which infects, not cures.

How can a Father that hath lost his Son, A Prince both wise, virtuous, and valiant, Take pleasure in the idle acts of Time?

No, no; till Mucedorus I shall see again, All joy is comfortless, all pleasure pain.

ANSELMO.

Your son my lord is well.

KING OF VALENTIA.

I pre-thee, speak that thrice.

ANSELMO.

The Prince, you Son, is safe.

KING OF VALENTIA.

O where, Anselmo? surfeit me with that.

ANSELMO.

In Aragon, my Liege;

And at his parture, Bound my secrecy, By his affectious love, not to disclose it:

But care of him, and pity of your age, Makes my tongue blab what my breast vow'd concealment.

KING OF VALENTIA.

Thou not deceivest me?