ye alive? do ye understand her meaning?
Have ye bloud and spirit in ye?

_Dem_. I dare not trouble her.

_Leo_. Nay, and you will be nip't i'th' head with nothing,
Walk whining up and down; I dare not, I cannot:
Strike now or never: faint heart, you know what Sir--
Be govern'd by your fear, and quench your fire out.
A Devil on't, stands this door ope for nothing?
So get ye together, and be naught: now to secure all,
Will I go fetch out a more soveraign plaister. [_Exeunt._

_SCENA IV._

_Enter Antigonus, Seleucus, Lysimachus, Ptolomy, Lieutenant, Gentlemen,
Lords._

_Ant_. This peace is fairly made.

_Seleu_. Would your Grace wish us
To put in more: take what you please, we yield it;
The honour done us by your son constrains it,
Your noble son.

_Ant_. It is sufficient, Princes;
And now we are one again, one mind, one body,
And one sword shall strike for us.

_Lys_. Let Prince _Demetrius_
But lead us on: for we are his vowed servants;
Against the strength of all the world we'l buckle.

_Ptol_. And even from all that strength we'l catch at victory.

_Sel_. O had I now recover'd but the fortune
I lost in _Antioch_, when mine Unckle perish'd;
But that were but to surfeit me with blessings.

_Lys_. You lost a sweet child there.

_Sel_. Name it no more Sir;
This is no time to entertain such sorrows;
Will your Majesty do us the honour, we may see the Prince,
And wait upon him?

_Enter Leon._

_Ant_. I wonder he stayes from us:
How now _Leontius_, where's my son?

_Sel_. Brave Captain.

_Lys_. Old valiant Sir.

_Leo_. Your Graces are welcom:
Your son and't please you Sir, is new cashiered yonder,
Cast from his Mistris favour: and such a coil there is;
Such fending, and such proving; she stands off,
And will by no means yield to composition:
He offers any price; his body to her.

_Sel_. She is a hard Lady, denies that caution.

_Leo_. And now they whine, and now they rave: faith Princes,
'Twere a good point of charity to piece 'em;
For less than such a power will doe just nothing:
And if you mean to see him, there it must be,
For there will he grow, till he be transplanted.

_Sel_. Beseech your grace, let's wait upon you thither,
That I may see that beauty dares deny him,
That scornfull beauty.

_Ptol_. I should think it worse now;
Ill brought up beauty.

_Ant_. She has too much reason for't;
Which with too great a grief, I shame to think of,
But we'll go see this game.

_