Gom. How like a murtherer I stand! look up,
And hear me curse my self, or but behold
The vengeance I will take for't Oriana,
And then in peace forsake me: Jealousie,
Thou loathsome vomit of the fiends below,
What desperate hunger made me to receive thee
Into my heart, and soul? I'll let thee forth,
And so in death find ease; and does my fault then
Deserve no greater punishment? no, I'll live
To keep thee for a fury to torment me,
And make me know what hell is on the earth:
All joyes and hopes forsake me; all mens malice,
And all the plagues they can inflict, I wish it
Fall thick upon me: let my tears be laught at,
And may mine enemies smile to hear me groane;
And dead, may I be pitied of none. [Exeunt.
Scæna Tertia.
Enter Collonna and Lucinda.
Luc. Pray you Sir why was the Ordnance of the Fort
Discharg'd so sodainly?
Col. 'Twas the Governors pleasure,
In honor of the Dane, a custom us'd,
To speak a Soldiers welcome.
Luc. 'Tis a fit one:
But is my Master here too?
Col. Three days since.
Luc. Might I demand without offence, so much,
Is't pride in him (however now a slave)
That I am not admitted to his presence?
Col. His curtesie to you, and to mankind
May easily resolve you, he is free
From that poor vice which only empty men
Esteem a virtue.
Luc. What's the reason then,
As you imagine, Sir?