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Even when I showed the greatest want of reverence
I could have died with rapture in your service.

Alex. Lysimachus, we both have been transported:
But from this hour be certain of my heart.
A lion be the impress of thy shield;

And that gold armour we from Porus won
Thy king presents thee-But thy wounds ask rest.

Lys. I have no wounds, dread sir! or if I had, Were they all mortal, they should stream unminded When Alexander was the glorious health.

Alex. Thy hand, Hephestion: clasp him to thy heart, And wear him ever near thee. Parisatis

Shall now be his who serves me best in war.

Neither reply, but mark the charge I give;

Live, live as friends-you will, you must, you shall: 'Tis a god gives you life.

Clyt. Oh, monstrous vanity!

Alex. Ha! what says Clytus? who am I?

Clyt. The son of good king Philip. Alex. By my kindred gods 'Tis false.

Great Ammon gave me birth. Clyt. I've done.

Alex. Clytus, what means that dress?

Give him a robe,


Take it and wear it.

Clyt. Sir, the wine, the weather,

Has heated me: besides, you know my humour.

Alex. Oh, 'tis not well! I'd rather perish, burn,

Than be so singular and froward.

Clyt. So would I

Burn, hang, drown, but in a better cause.
I'll drink or fight for sacred majesty

With any here. Fill me another bowl.
Will you excuse me?

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

'Till the king drinks. Sure I was born to wage
Eternal war.
All are my enemies,
Whom I could tame-But let the sports go on.
Lys. Nay, Clytus, you that could advise so well-
Alex. Let him persist, be positive, and proud,
Envious and sullen, 'mongst the nobler souls,
Like an infernal spirit that hath stole
From hell, and mingled with the mirth of gods.

Clyt. When gods grow hot, no difference I know
'Twixt them and devils-Fill me Greek wine-y
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 pestered with shrill sounds, Give me the cries of matrons in sacked towns.

Heph. Let us, Lysimachus, awake the king;
A heavy gloom is gathering 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 Jove! the world should know
The kindness of my people-Rise! oh rise!
My hands, my arms, my heart, are ever yours.

Cly. I did not kiss the earth, nor must your hand

I am unworthy, sir.

Alex. I know thou art:

Thou enviest the great honour of thy master.
Sit, all
my friends. Now let us talk of war,
The noblest subject for a soldier's mouth,
And speak, speak freely, else you love me not.
Who, think you, was the greatest general
That ever led an army to the field?

Heph. A chief so great, so fortunately brave,
And justly so renowned as Alexander,
The radiant sun, since first his beams gave light,
Never yet saw.

Lys. Such was not Cyrus, or the famed Alcides,
Nor great Achilles, whose tempestuous sword
Laid Troy in ashes, though the warring gods
Opposed him.

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.
Nay, frown not, sir, you cannot look me dead.
When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war!
The laboured battle sweat, and conquest bled.
Why should I fear to speak a bolder truth
Than e'er the lying priests of Ammon told you?
Philip fought men—but Alexander women.

Alex. All envy, spite and envy, by the gods!
Is then my glory come to this at last,

To conquer women! Nay, he said the stoutest,
The stoutest here, would tremble at his dangers.
In all the sickness, all the wounds, I bore,
When from my reins the javelin's head was cut,
Lysimachus, Hephestion, speak, Perdiccas,
Did I once tremble? Oh, the cursed falsehood!
Did I once shake or groan, or act beneath
The dauntless resolution of a king?

Lys. Wine has transported him.
Alex. No, 'tis 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 thundered down.
When you beneath cryed 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 a woman, when, like Mercury,

I leaped the walls and flew amidst the foe,
And, like a baited lion, dyed myself

All over in the blood of those bold hunters;
Till spent with toil I battled on my knees,
Plucked forth the darts that made my shield a forest,
And hurled 'em back with most unconquered fury;
Then shining in my arms I sunned the field,
Moved, spoke, and fought, and was myself a war?

Clyt. 'Twas all bravado; for, before you leaped,
You saw that I had burst the gates asunder.

Alex. Oh, that thou wert but once more young and


That I might strike thee prostrate to the earth,
For this audacious lie, thou feeble dotard!

Clyt. I know the reason why you use me thus:
I saved you from the sword of bold Rhesaces,
Else had your godship slumbered 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 forgiven,
The shameful riots of a vicious life,

Philotas' murder

Alex. Ha! 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,

To Philip, Atalaus, Calisthenes,

To great Parmenio, and his slaughtered sons.

Alex. Give me a javelin.

Heph. Hold, mighty sir!
Alex. Sirrah! off,

Lest I at once strike through his heart and thine.

Lys. Oh, sacred sir! have but a moment's patience.

Alex. What! hold my arms! I shall be murdered here, Like poor Darius, by my barbarous subjects. Perdiccas, sound our trumpets to the camp; Call all my soldiers to the court: nay, haste, For there is treason plotting 'gainst my life, And I shall perish ere they come to save me. Where is the traitor?

Clyt. Sure there is none amongst us, But here I stand-honest Clytus, Whom the king invited to the banquet.

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