Val. What hope have I, The name of virtue should prevail with him, Who thinks even it, for which I plead, a crime?— Yet nature, sure, some argument may be; If them you cannot pity, pity me.
Max. I will, and all the world shall judge it so: I will the excess of pity to you shew. You ask to save A dangerous rebel, and disloyal wife; And I in mercy—will not take your life.
Val. You more than kill me by this cruelty, And in their persons bid your daughter die. I honour Berenice's virtue much; But for Porphyrius my love is such, I cannot, will not live, when he is gone.
Max. I'll do that cure for you, which on myself is done. You must, like me, your lover's life remove; Cut off your hope, and you destroy your love. If it were hard, I would not bid you try The medicine; but 'tis but to let him die. Yet since you are so soft, (which you call good,) And are not yet confirmed enough in blood, To see his death; Your frailty shall be favoured with this grace, That they shall suffer in another place. If, after they are dead, their memory By any chance into your mind be brought, Laugh, and divert it with some other thought. Away with them.
[Exeunt Berenice, Porphyrius, and Albinus, carried off by Guards.
Val. Since prayers nor tears can bend his cruel mind, [Looking after Por.
Farewell, the best and bravest of mankind! How I have loved, heaven knows; but there's a fate, Which hinders me from being fortunate. My father's crimes hang heavy on my head, And like a gloomy cloud about me spread. I would in vain be pious; that's a grace, Which heaven permits not to a tyrant's race.
Max. Hence to her tent the foolish girl convey.
Val. Let me be just before I go away.— Placidius, I have vowed to be your wife; Take then my hand, 'tis yours while I have life.— One moment here I must another's be; But this, Porphyrius, gives me back to thee.
[Stabs herself twice, and then Placidius wrests the Dagger from her.