Paris monologue — Philip Massinger

Or if desire of honour was the base On which the building of the Roman empire Was raised up to this height; if, to inflame The noble youth with an ambitious heat T’endure the frosts of danger, nay, of death, To be thought worthy the triumphal wreath, By glorious undertakings, may deserve Reward, or favour from the commonwealth; Actors may put in for as large a share As all the sects of the philosophers; They with cold precepts (perhaps seldom read) Deliver, what an honourable thing The active virtue is; but does that fire The blood, or swell the veins with emulation, To be both good and great, equal to that Which is presented in our theatres? Let a good actor, in a lofty scene, Show great Alcides honour’d in the sweat Of his twelve labours; or a bold Camillus Forbidding Rome to be redeem’d with gold From the insulting Gauls; or Scipio, After his victories, imposing tribute On conquer’d Carthage; if done to the life, As if they saw their dangers, and their glories, And did partake with them in their rewards, All that have any spark of Roman in them, The slothful arts laid by, contend to be Like those they see presented.