Max. My promise for her life I do engage.
Por. Will that, sir, be remembered in your rage?
Max. Speak, or your silence more my rage will move; 'Twill argue that you rival me in love.
Por. Can you believe that my ambitious flame Should mount so high as Berenice's name?
Max. Your guilt dares not approach what it would hide; But draws me off, and (lapwing-like) flies wide. 'Tis not my wife, but mistress, you adore: Though that affront, yet this offends me more. Who courts my wife, Does to my honour more injurious prove; But he, who courts my mistress, wrongs my love.
Por. The Egyptian princess ne'er could move my heart.
Max. You could not perish by a nobler dart.
Por. Sir, I presume not beauties to compare; But in my eyes my princess is as fair.
Max. Your princess! then it seems, though you deny Her name you love, you own her quality.
Por. Though not by birth or title so, yet she, Who rules my heart, a princess is to me.