(But yet I dare not harm her if I would.
My heart grows faint, is overpowered with dread,
The falling blow would also cleave my head:
I ne'er intended it should go thus far,
Yet still the guilt and recompense mine are).
Speak, wretched woman! say, what tempted thee?
Thou ne'er couldst think this crime would pleasure me.
Thy witch-like spells, by which ye think to know
My secret plans, are false—yea, doubly so.'
'Doubt as you like, but hear what I would tell,