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?