Racine: Phaedra

LIFE A DREAM 235
Segismund.— Clotaldo ! What,
At last—h.^s old self—undisguised where all
Is masquerade—to end it !—You kneeling too I
What ! have the stars you told me long ago
Laid that old work upon you, added this,
That, having chain'd your prisoner so long,
You loose his body now to slay his wits,
Dragging him—how I know not—whither scarce
I understand—dressing him up in all
This frippery, with your dumb familiars
Disvizor'd, and their lips unlockt to lie,
Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like,
Setting a crown of straw upon his head ?
Clotaldo.—Would but your Highness, as indeed I now
Must call you—and upon his bended knee
Never bent Subject more devotedly
However all about you, and perhaps
You to yourself incomprehensible.
But rest in the assurance of your own
Sane waking senses, by these witnesses
Attested, till the story of it all.
Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd.
Assured of all you see and hear as neither
Madness nor mockery
Segismund.— What then?
Clotaldo.— All it seems:
This palace with its royal garniture
This capital of which it is the eye,
With all its temples, marts, and arsenals
This realm of which this city is the head.
With all its cities, villages, and tilth,
Its armies, fleets, and commerce ; all your own
And all the living souls that make them up.
From those who now, and those who shall, salute you,
Down to the poorest peasant of the realm,
Your subjects—Who, though now their mighty voice
Sleeps in the general body unapprised.
Wait but a word from those about you now
To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund.
Segismund.—All this is so?