O madness, to think use of strongest wines And strongest drinks our chief support of health, When God with these forbid'n made choice to rear His mighty Champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
Sam.

But what avail'd this temperance, not compleat Against another object more enticing?
What boots it at one gate to make defence, 560 And at another to let in the foe Effeminatly vanquish't?
by which means, Now blind, disheartn'd, sham'd, dishonour'd, quell'd, To what can I be useful, wherein serve My Nation, and the work from Heav'n impos'd, But to sit idle on the houshold hearth, A burdenous drone; to visitants a gaze, Or pitied object, these redundant locks Robustious to no purpose clustring down, Vain monument of strength; till length of years 570 And sedentary numness craze my limbs To a contemptible old age obscure.
Here rather let me drudge and earn my bread, Till vermin or the draff of servil food Consume me, and oft-invocated death Hast'n the welcom end of all my pains.
Man.

Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with that gift Which was expresly giv'n thee to annoy them?
Better at home lie bed-rid, not only idle, Inglorious, unimploy'd, with age out-worn.

580 But God who caus'd a fountain at thy prayer From the dry ground to spring, thy thirst to allay After the brunt of battel, can as easie Cause light again within thy eies to spring, Wherewith to serve him better then thou hast; And I perswade me so; why else this strength Miraculous yet remaining in those locks?
His might continues in thee not for naught, Nor shall his wondrous gifts be frustrate thus.
Sam: All otherwise to me my thoughts portend, 590 That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light, Nor th' other light of life continue long, But yield to double darkness nigh at hand: So much I feel my genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, nature within me seems In all her functions weary of herself; My race of glory run, and race of shame, And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
Man.

Believe not these suggestions which proceed From anguish of the mind and humours black, 600 That mingle with thy fancy.