Had I but kept my Innocence intire,
I had out-brav’d my Fate, and broke my Chains,
Which now I bear like a poor guilty Slave,
Who sadly crys, If I were free from these,
I am not from my Crimes; so still lives on,
And drags his loathed Fetters after him.
Why should I fear to die, or murder him?
It is but adding one Sin more to th’ number.
This—would soon do’t—but where’s the Hand to guide it? [Draws a Dagger, sighs.
For ’tis an act too horrid for a Woman. [Turns away.