Must be your judge; and not that idle breath Dor. Your laws cannot, without partiality, pronounce Judgment against me, for they do acquit That man of guilt that, to defend his life, Allows a reparation for the loss Of fame, but gives no man a lawful licence Dor. This strictness destroys all I had with patience borne this scandalous name Nipp'd the budding valour of my youth, As with a killing frost, but left a shame inherent To our family; disgraced My noble father's memory; defamed, Nay, cowarded my ancestors, whose dust Would have broke through the marble, to revenge On me this fatal infamy. Adorni. Well urg'd; and resolutely. Dor. Nay, more: yourselves, That hate the deed being done, would have detested The doer worse had it not been perform'd ; Withdrawn my charge in the army, as from me, Have abjur'd the trade of war, in which I have been nurs'd. Of precious honour, that hangs on my soul Like a well-polish'd jewel in the ear Of the exactest beauty, must I suffer The laws' stern rigour. Tri. Sir, I could refute, With circumstance, your wrong opinion; but, in brief, An act so barbarous: to take man's life Is to destroy Heaven's image; and if those Severest tortures on them who deface The stamps of princes on their coin, can they appear As guiltless, whose rude hands disgrace The great Creator's image, and commit Treason 'gainst awful Nature. Oh! my lord, Enter Sabelli disguised in female apparel, accompanied with virgins. Sab. My honour'd lord, The charity I owe my native country, As my desir'd prerogative. Tri. 'Tis an act the State will thank you for, unveil yourself, That we may know to whom we owe our gratitude. A most excelling beauty! such an eye Would tempt religious coldness to a flame, Thaw age's chilly frost; at such a cheek, The times would black you with the hateful title Dor. Noble maid! my misery is so extreme a sum, Express'd by prayers, my soul in heav'n shall pay it To your kind charity. Sab. O, my lord! I did expect this answer; my poor worth A constant purity in my thoughts, that intend you A thousand virgins, whose unspotted prayers, Vit. Why, friend, this is Such an o'er-weening passion as does question Entreats could move her pity undertake Tri. Do it with speedy diligence. Shall more confirm my truth. My noble lord, pronounce My happy sentence; 'twill be welcome to me As charming harmony, and swell my breast Tri. Are you come? approach; As she has virtuous thoughts; but lean to that, To a ne'er-melting icicle: be sudden, And wise in your election. Dor. 'Tis but vain: a saint may sooner be o'ercome to sell His native piety. Come, thou grim man; Thou art to me more lovely than the face of perfect Beauty. Do thy office; it will free me From these perplexities. Sab. Well, my lord, Since I'm unworthy to enjoy in life Your fair society, my soul shall haste To wait on you to death; there is no bliss Without your presence: since you will not have Mercy on your own life, by your example I'll be as harsh to mine. I'll go Before you to the other world, Tri. Hold, hold the lady! Sab. Let no hand presume to seize me; For the meanest touch that shall Endeavour to prevent my will, Shall urge my speedier ruin. Good, my lord, Dor. I'm confounded In my imagination. I must yield. You have enforc'd a benefit upon me, I Enter Chrisea and Eurione. Chri. Sir, we come to gratulate your beauteous bride, And wish your joys immortal. Sab. I hope, madam, my innocence has giv'n you no offence, That you refuse me, being a stranger to you, The ceremonious wishes which pertain To new-made brides, and only do confer them Chri. Your happiness already Is so superlative, I cannot think A new addition to it ;^ You enjoy The very sum of fortune in your match To such a noble and illustrious husband ; I can no longer hold my passion in. These walls of flesh are not of Strength sufficient to contain My big swoln heart. My lords, behold a creature So infinitely wretched, I deserve not The meanest show of pity, who have, like A silly merchant, trifled away a gem A piteous spectacle for the reproach Eur. Is this possible? Was all her passion to Vitelli feign'd? Tri. Why, Chrisea, Whence springs this passionate fury ? Chri. Oh! my lord, When you shall hear it, you will sigh for me, Of my unkind disaster: sir, my justice |