Enter Mountferrat and Rocca.
Mount. THe Sun's not set yet?
Roc. No Sir.
Mount. Would it were,
Never to rise again to light the world.
And yet, to what vain purpose do I wish it.
Since though I were inviron'd with thick mists,
Black as Cymerian darkness, or my crimes,
There is that here, upon which as an anvile
Ten thousand hammers strike, and every spark
They force from it, to me's an other Sun
To light me to my shame?
Roc. Take hope, and comfort.
Mount. They are aides indeed, but yet as far from me,
As I from being innocent: this cave fashion'd
By provident nature, in this solid Rock
To be a den for beasts, alone, receives me,
And having prov'd an enemy to mankind,
All humane helps forsake me.
Roc. I'll nee'r leave you,
And wish you would call back that noble courage
That old invincible fortitude of yours
That us'd to shrink at nothing.
Mount. Then it did not.
But 'twas when I was honest; then in the height
Of all my happiness, of all my glories,
Of all delights, that made life pretious to me
I durst dye Rocca; death it self then to me
Was nothing terrible, because I knew,
The fame of a good Knight would ever live
Fresh on my memory; but since I fell
From my integrity, and dismis'd those guards,
Those strong assurances of innocence,
That constancy fled from me, and what's worse,
Now I am loathsome to my self; and life
A burthen to me, rack'd with sad remembrance
Of what I have done, and my present horrors
Unsufferable to me, tortur'd with despair
That I shall nee'r find mercy: hell about me,
Behind me, and before me, yet I dare not,
Still fearing worse, put off my wretched Being.
Ent[e]r Abdella.
Roc. To see this would deter a doubtful man
From mischievous intents, much more the practice
Of what is wicked: here's the Moore, look up Sir,
Some ease may come from her.