Lam. Do's that grieve you?
Gen. I know not: but even now you appear valiant.
Luc. 'Twas to preserve my father: in his cause
I could be so again.
Gen. Not in your own? Kneel to thy Rival and thine enemy?
Away unworthy creature, I begin
To hate my self, for giving entrance to
A good opinion of thee: for thy torment,
If my poor beauty be of any power,
Mayst thou doat on it desperately: but never
Presume to hope for grace, till thou recover
And wear the favor that was ravish'd from thee.
Lam. He wears my head too then.
Gen. Poor fool, farewell. [Exit.
Luc. My womanish soul, which hitherto hath govern'd
This coward flesh, I feel departing from me;
And in me by her beauty is inspir'd
A new, and masculine one: instructing me
What's fit to do or suffer; powerful love
That hast with loud, and yet a pleasing thunder
Rous'd sleeping manhood in me, thy new creature,
Perfect thy work so that I may make known
Nature (though long kept back) will have her own. [Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima.
Enter Lamorall and Lucio.