SOLIMAN: … You move me; yet remove I not.
Man comprehends a man, but not a king.
I feel myself (tis true) and I feel you;
How to itself can power then prove untrue?
Succession on the present never wins
But by the death of body, or of spirit:
Let not misprision wound me in thy love:
Great inequality of worth you yield
To them, you think can on my ruins build.
CAMENA … In what a labyrinth is honor cast,
Drawn divers ways with sex, with time, with state?
In all which error’s course is infinite,
By hope, by fear, by spite, by love, and hate;
And but one only way until the right,
A thorny way: where pain must be the guide;
Danger the light; offence of power the praise:
Such are the golden hopes of iron days.
CHORUS: …whence I conclude: Mankind is both the form
And matter, wherewith tyrannies transform.
For power can neither see, work, or devise,
Without the people’s hands, hearts, wits, and eyes:
So that were man not by himself oppressed
Kings would not, tyrants could not make him beast.
BEGLERBY: Ah, humourous kings, how are you tossed, like waves,
With breaths that from the earth beneath you move;
Observed and betrayed, known and undone,
By being nothing, unto all things won.