Who could deny him love?

_Dem._ Hail Royal Father.

_Ant._ Ye are welcome from your sport, Sir, do you see this Gent.
You that bring Thunders in your mouths, and Earthquakes
To shake and totter my designs? can you imagine
(You men of poor and common apprehensions)
While I admit this man, my Son, this nature
That in one look carries more fire, and fierceness,
Than all your Masters in their lives; dare I admit him,
Admit him thus, even to my side, my bosom,
When he is fit to rule, when all men cry him,
And all hopes hang about his head; thus place him,
His weapon hatched in bloud, all these attending
When he shall make their fortunes, all as sudden
In any expedition he shall point 'em,
As arrows from a Tartars bow, and speeding,
Dare I do this, and fear an enemy?
Fear your great Master? yours? or yours?

_Dem._ O _Hercules_!
Who saies you do, Sir? Is there any thing
In these mens faces, or their Masters actions,
Able to work such wonders?

_Cel._ Now he speaks:
O I could dwell upon that tongue for ever.

_Dem._ You call 'em Kings, they never wore those Royalties,