King. 
     Ask, ask, fair cousin!  Nothing, I am sure,
     Not well consider’d; nay, if ’twere, yet nothing
     But pardonable from such lips as those.

     EST.
     Then, with your pardon, Sir—­if Segismund,
     My cousin, whom I shall rejoice to hail
     As Prince of Poland too, as you propose,
     Be to a trial coming upon which
     More, as I think, than life itself depends,
     Why, Sir, with sleep-disorder’d senses brought
     To this uncertain contest with his stars?

King.  Well ask’d indeed!  As wisely be it answer’d! Because it is uncertain, see you not?  For as I think I can discern between The sudden flaws of a sleep-startled man, And of the savage thing we have to dread; If but bewilder’d, dazzled, and uncouth, As might the sanest and the civilest In circumstance so strange—­nay, more than that, If moved to any out-break short of blood, All shall be well with him; and how much more, If ’mid the magic turmoil of the change, He shall so calm a resolution show As scarce to reel beneath so great a blow!  But if with savage passion uncontroll’d He lay about him like the brute foretold, And must as suddenly be caged again; Then what redoubled anguish and despair, From that brief flash of blissful liberty Remitted—­and for ever—­to his chain!  Which so much less, if on the stage of glory Enter’d and exited through such a door Of sleep as makes a dream of all between.

     EST.
     Oh kindly answer, Sir, to question that
     To charitable courtesy less wise
     Might call for pardon rather!  I shall now
     Gladly, what, uninstructed, loyally
     I should have waited.

     Ast.
     Your Highness doubts not me,
     Nor how my heart follows my cousin’s lips,
     Whatever way the doubtful balance fall,
     Still loyal to your bidding.

     OMNES. 
     So say all.

     King. 
     I hoped, and did expect, of all no less—­
     And sure no sovereign ever needed more
     From all who owe him love or loyalty. 
     For what a strait of time I stand upon,
     When to this issue not alone I bring
     My son your Prince, but e’en myself your King: 
     And, whichsoever way for him it turn,
     Of less than little honour to myself. 
     For if this coming trial justify
     My thus withholding from my son his right,
     Is not the judge himself justified in
     The father’s shame?  And if the judge proved wrong,
     My son withholding from his right thus long,
     Shame and remorse to judge and father both: 
     Unless remorse and shame together drown’d
     In having what I flung for worthless found. 
     But come—­already weary with your travel,
     And ill refresh’d by this strange history,
     Until the hours that draw the sun from heaven