Enter Dorigen, Ladyes bearing a sword.
Are foolish, like thy tongue. My Dorigen?
Oh! must she see me bound?
1 Cap. There's the first sigh
He breath'd since he was born, I think.
2 Cap. Forbear,
All but the Lady his wife.
Soph. How my heart chides
The manacles of my hands, that let them not
Embrace my Dorigen.
Val. Turn but thy face.
And ask thy life of Martius thus, and thou
(With thy fair wife) shalt live; Athens shall stand,
And all her priviledges augmented be.
Soph. 'Twere better Athens perish'd, and my wife
Which (Romans) I do know a worthie one,
Then Sophocles should shrink of Sophocles,
Commit profane Idolatry, by giving
The reverence due to gods to thee blown man.
Mar. Rough, stubborn Cynick.
Soph. Thou art rougher far,
And of a couser wale, fuller of pride,
Less temperate to bear prosperity.
Thou seest my meer neglect hath rais'd in thee
A storm more boystrous then the Oceans,
My virtue, Patience, makes thee vitious.
Mar. Why, fair-ey'd Lady, do you kneel?