MECH. 'Tis not man's fortune, envy, or neglect, Which makes him miserable; but 'tis mean fate, Even sole predestination, a firm gift Fix'd to his birth, before the world was made. For were it otherwise, then within our lives We should find some distractions, various[173] change. And other toys of much uncertainty: But my mishaps are fix'd so to my blood, They have no sire but my creation: The queen, out of suspicion that my love First set an edge upon the king's desires, And made him woo her with a victor's sword. Cast me from favour, seizes all my lands, And turns my naked fortunes to the cold. The king, made proud with purchase of his wish, Neglects my sufferance for him, and o'erlooks The low tide of my fortunes; lest my woes Should speak my wrongs to his ingratitude: The whilst those lords, whose supple hams have bow'd To do me formal reverence, now despise And slight me in their meanest compliments. O, 'tis a torment more than hell yet knows, To be an honest flatterer, or to live A saint in limbo, which that I may prevent, I'll be nor best nor worst, but all indifferent, But here comes a nobleman; I must turn petitioner.
FLO. You may not. His majesty is now down-press'd with seriousness: As for your suit, it is with Prate the orator, I heard his highness give him a special charge For your despatch with favour.
MECH. O, but he doth neglect, And slights me like his weak orations: And by your lordship's leave I do not think His wisdom worthy of the conference.
FLO. Nay, if you will correct the king's coin, you are not for my conference, farewell.
MECH. Why, and fare you well! sfoot, this is more than strange, That, being griev'd, I may not say I'm pain'd.
But here comes another: mine honourable lord, May I not have some conference with the king?
ALPH. You may not; business of greater weight Imports both him and us: nay, pray you cease; As for your suit, 'tis with the orator.
ALPH. That you would rather trouble him than me.
ALPH. It's strange, indeed, to see you wrong your ease. I am not now for idle conferences. Adieu.
MECH. Why this is court-grace[174] to men in misery, And thus these tail-less lions with their roar Affright the simple herd: O, I could now Turn rebel 'gainst their pride.