Place me in open battle, and I care not
For bloodshed; but this murderous intrigue,
I will have none o't.

_Lys._ Nay, my lord, in sooth,
Why think of bloodshed? If our scheme go right
(And nought can mar it now), what need of blood?
These smooth knaves, though they fight behind their walls
With cunning enginery, yet when they see
Our army in their streets, will straight grow prudent
And hug discretion. But, indeed, my lord,
We have gone too far to pause, and if thou like not
Our scheme, which makes for thee and for our State,
We cannot risk that thou denounce our plan,
And therefore, if thou wilt not join with us,
The safety of ourselves and of the State
Holds thee a prisoner pent in durance vile
Till victory is ours, and thou mayst take
The fruit of others' daring, while thy wife
Deserts her doubting and dishonoured lord
For one who dares to act and play his part
As a man should.

_Asan._ (_after hesitation_). I do not hold with you,
That a man's oath can bind him to his God
To do what else were wrong. Yet, since you swear
Your purpose is not bloodshed, and my will
Is impotent to stay your choice, and chiefly
Because I am cast down and sick at heart,
And without any trust in God or man,
I do consent to your conspiracy,
Loving it not.

_Lys._ There spoke my lord the Prince.
We will succeed or die.

_Asan._ I would sooner die.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--_Cherson. Irene's prison._

IRENE; _then the Gaoler's_ Child; _afterwards_ GYCIA.

_Ire._ Ah me! The heaviness of prisoned days!
Heigho! 'Tis weary work in prison here.
What though I know no loss but liberty,
Have everything at will--food, service, all
That I should have, being free--yet doth constraint
Poison life at its spring; and if I thought
This woman's jealous humour would endure,
I would sooner be a hireling set to tend
The kine upon the plains, in heat or cold,
Chilled through by the sharp east, scorched by the sun,
So only I might wander as I would
At my own will, than weary to be free
From this luxurious cell. Hark!

[_The tramp of armed men is heard._

What was that sound?
I could swear I heard the measured tramp of men
And ring of mail, yet is it but illusion.
Last night I thought I heard it as I lay
Awake at dead of night. Mere fantasy
Born of long sol