Bes. It is a pretty hilt; and if your lordship take an affection to it, with all my heart I present it to you, for a new year’s gift.

[Gives him his sword, with a knife in the scabbard.

Bac. I thank you very heartily, sweet captain! Farewell.

Bes. One word more: I beseech your lordship to render me my knife again.

Bac. Marry, by all means, captain. [Gives him back the knife.] Cherish yourself with it, and eat hard, good captain! we cannot tell whether we shall have any more such. Adieu, dear captain!

[Exit Bacurius.

Bes. I will make better use of this, than of my sword. A base spirit has this ’vantage of a brave one; it keeps always at a stay, nothing brings it down, not beating. I remember I promised the king, in a great audience, that I would make my back-biters eat my sword to a knife: How to get another sword I know not; nor know any means left for me to maintain my credit, but impudence: Therefore I will outswear him and all his followers, that this is all that’s left uneaten of my sword.

[Exit Bessus.

SCENE III.—An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter MARDONIUS.

Mar. I’ll move the king; he is most strangely alter’d: I guess the cause, I fear, too right. Heaven has some secret end in’t, and ’tis a scourge, no question, justly laid upon him. He has follow’d me through twenty rooms; and ever, when I stay to wait his command, he blushes like a girl, and looks upon me as if modesty kept in his business; so turns away from me; but, if I go on, he follows me again.

Enter ARBACES

Arb. I cannot utter it! Why should I keep A breast to harbour thoughts I dare not speak? Darkness is in my bosom; and there lie A thousand thoughts that cannot brook the light. How wilt thou vex me, when this deed is done, Conscience, that art afraid to let me name it!

Mar. How do you, sir?

Arb. Why, very well, Mardonius. How dost thou do?

Mar. Better than you, I fear.

Arb. I hope thou art; for, to be plain with thee, Thou art in hell else! Secret scorching flames, That far transcend earthly material fires, Are crept into me, and there is no cure: Is it not strange, Mardonius, there’s no cure?

Mar. Sir, either I mistake, or there is something hid, that you would utter to me.

Arb. So there is: but yet I cannot do it.

Mar. Out with it, sir. If it be dangerous, I will not shrink to do you service: I shall not esteem my life a weightier matter than indeed it is. I know ’tis subject to more chances than it has hours; and I were better