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Sam: My self? my conscience and internal peace.
Can they think me so broken, so debas'd
With corporal servitude, that my mind ever
Will condescend to such absurd commands?
Although thir drudge, to be thir fool or jester,
And in my midst of sorrow and heart-grief
To shew them feats, and play before thir god,
The worst of all indignities, yet on me
1340
Joyn'd with extream contempt? I will not come.
Off: My message was impos'd on me with speed,
Brooks no delay: is this thy resolution?
Sam: So take it with what speed thy message needs.
Off: I am sorry what this stoutness will produce.
Sam: Perhaps thou shalt have cause to sorrow indeed.
Chor: Consider, Samson; matters now are strain'd
Up to the highth, whether to bold or break;
He's gone, and who knows how he may report
Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?
1350
Expect another message more imperious,
More Lordly thund'ring then thou well wilt bear.
769
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