And my angrier mood returned. 
I his doors and windows fastened. 
In the room where he is lying,
Well secured by gyves and shackles,
Sparingly his food is given him,
Through my hands alone it passes,
For I dare not to another
Trust the care his state demandeth. 
You will think in this I reached to
The extreme of my disasters—­
The full limits of misfortune,
But not so, and if you hearken,
You ’ll perceive they ’re but beginning,
And not ended, as you fancied. 
All these strange events so much
Have unnerved him and unmanned him,
That, forgetful of himself,
Of himself he is regardless. 
Nothing to the purpose speaks he. 
In his incoherent language
Frenzy shows itself, delusion
In his thoughts and in his fancies:—­
Many times I ’ve listened to him,
Since so high-strung and abstracted
Is his mind, he takes no note of
Who goes in or who departeth. 
Once I heard him deprecating
Some despotic beauty’s hardness,
Saying, “Since I die for thee,
Thou thy favour sure wilt grant me”. 
At another time he said,
“Three in one, oh! how can that be?”
Things which these same Christian people
In their law hold quite established. 
Thus it is my life is troubled,
Lost in doubts, emeshed, and tangled. 
If to freedom I restore him,
I have little doubt that, darkened
By the Christian treachery, he
Will declare himself instanter
Openly a Christian, which
Would to me be such a scandal,
That my blood henceforth were tainted,
And my noble name were branded. 
If I leave him here in prison,
So excessive is his sadness,
So extreme his melancholy,
That I fear ’t will end in madness. 
In a word, I hold, my nephew,
Hold it as a certain axiom,
That these dark magician Christians
Keep him bound by their enchantments;
Who through hatred of my house,
And my office to disparage,
Now revenge themselves on me
Through my only son Chrysanthus. 
Tell me, then, what shall I do;
But before you give the answer
Which your subtle wit may dictate,
I would with your own eyes have thee
See him first, you ’ll then know better
What my urgent need demandeth. 
Come, he ’s not far off, his quarter
Is adjoining this apartment;
When you see him, I am certain
You will think it a disaster
Far less evil he should die,
Than that in this cruel manner
He should outrage his own blood,
And my bright escutcheon blacken.
[He opens a door, and Chrysanthus is seen seated in a chair, with his
hands and feet in irons.]

Claudius. 
Thus to see my friend, o’erwhelms me
With a grief I cannot master.

Polemius. 
Stay, do not approach him nearer;
For I would not he remarked thee,
I would save him the disgrace
Of being seen by thee thus shackled.

Claudius. 
What his misery may dictate
We can hear, nor yet attract him.