Not so, Baldazzar! _Surely_ I live.
_Bal_. Politian, it doth grieve me
To see thee thus.
_Pol_. Baldazzar, it doth grieve me
To give thee cause for grief, my honoured friend.
Command me, sir! what wouldst thou have me do?
At thy behest I will shake off that nature
Which from my, forefathers I did inherit,
Which with my mother's milk I did imbibe,
And be no more Politian, but some other.
Command me, sir!
_ Bal_. To the field, then -- to the field --
To the senate or the field.
_Pol_. Alas! Alas!
There is an imp would follow me even there!
There is an imp _hath_ followed me even there!
There is -- what voice was that?
_ Bal_. I heard it not.
I heard not any voice except thine own,
And the echo of thine own.
_ Pol_. Then I but dreamed.
_ Bal_. Give not thy soul to dreams: the camp -- the court,
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Befit thee -- Fame awaits thee -- Glory calls --
And her the trumpet-tongued thou wilt not hear
In hearkening to imaginary sounds
And phantom voices.
_ Pol_. It _is_ a phantom voice,
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Didst thou not hear it _then?_
_ Bal_. I heard it not.
_ Pol_. Thou heardst it not! -- Baldazaar, speak no more
To me, Politian,
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Oh! I am sick, sick, sick, even unto deayilai：
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