Act. 1. Scene. 1.
Enter, The two Kings of Lydia and Cilicia, Zenarchus sonne to the Cilician, Tymethes, sonne to the Lydian. Mareres, Fidelio, Amorpho, Sextorio, Lodovicus, when they come unto the Throne, the Tyrant of Cilicia puts by the old King, and ascends alone: all snatch out their swords, Mazeres crownes him, the old King and Tymethes stand amazed.
Florish.
Arm. Speranz.
Omn. Long live Armatrites King of Lydia.
King. How?
Arm. Art thou amaz'd old King, and all thy people
Mutually labouring in a fit of wonder?
Start from those pale dreames, we will prove all truë,
Who wins the day the brightnesse is his due.
King. King of Cilicia.
Arm. I and Lydia now,
Bate us not our Titles, we and ours
Have sweate and dearely earn'd them in our flesh.
King. It favors not of noblenesse nor vertue,
Religion, loyalty, heaven or natures lawes
So most perfidiously to enter, Tyrant,
Where was, expected honestly and honour,
Assistance from a friend, not a dissembler,
A Royall neighbour and no politique foe.
What worse than this could th' enemy performe?
And when shines friendship best but in a storme?
Arm. Why, doating Lydia, is it of no vertue
To bring our Army hither and put in venture
Our person and their lives upon our foes?
Wasting our courage, weakning our beft forces;
Impoverishing the heart of our munition,
And having wonne the honour of the battaile
To throw our glory on unworthy spirits,
And so unload victories honey thighes
To let Droanes feede?
King.
