Max. I cannot; mine arm's dead, I have no feeling;
Or if I could shoot, so strong is her arm'd Vertue,
She would catch the arrow flying.
Del. Poor doubtful people,
I pity your weak faiths.
Dio. Your mercy, Mother,
And from this hour a Deity I crown ye.
Del. No more of that.
Max. O let my Prayers prevail too,
Here like a tree, I dwell else; free me, Mother,
And greater than great Fortune, I'll adore thee.
Del. Be free again, and have more pure thoughts in ye.
Dio. Now I believe your words most constantly,
And when I have that power ye have promis'd to me.
Del. Remember then your Vow, my Niece Drusilla,
I mean to marry her, and then ye prosper.
Dio. I shall forget my life else.
Del. I am a poor weak woman, to me no worship.