Wal. I swear as thou propound’st to me.
Lydia. [After a pause, bursting into tears.] Oh, why—
Why have you used me thus? See what you’ve done!
Essayed to light a guilty passion up,
And kindled in its stead a holy one!
For I do love thee! Know’st thou not the wish
To find desert doth bring it oft to sight
Where yet it is not? so, for substance, passes
What only is a phantasm of our minds!
I feared thy love was guilty—yet my wish
To find it honest, stronger than my fear,
My fear with fatal triumph overthrew!
Now hope and fear give up to certainty,
And I must fly thee—yet must love thee still!
Wal. Lydia! by all—
Lydia. I pray you hear me out!
Was ’t right? was ’t generous? was ’t pitiful?
One way or other I might be undone:
To love with sin—or love without a hope!
Wal. Yet hear me, Lydia!—
Lydia. Stop! I’m undone!
A maid without a heart—robbed of the soil,
Wherein life’s hopes and wishes root and spring,
And thou the foe that did me so much hate,
And vowed me so much love!—but I forgive thee!
Yea, I do bless thee!
[Rushing up and sinking at his feet.]
Recollect thy oath!—
Or in thy heart lodged never germ of honour,
But ’tis a desert all!
[She kisses his hand—presses it to her heart, and kisses it again.]
Farewell then to thee!