Cre. To you! why what are you, that I should fear you?
I am not Laius. Hear me, prince of Argos;
You give what's nothing, when you give your honour:
'Tis gone; 'tis lost in battle. For your love,
Vows made in wine are not so false as that:
You killed her father; you confessed you did:
A mighty argument to prove your passion to the daughter!
Adr. [Aside.] Gods, must I bear this brand, and not retort
The lye to his foul throat!
Dioc. Basely you killed him.
Adr. [Aside.] O, I burn inward: my blood's all on fire!
Alcides, when the poisoned shirt sate closest,
Had but an ague-fit to this my fever.
Yet, for Eurydice, even this I'll suffer,
To free my love.—Well then, I killed him basely.
Cre. Fairly, I'm sure, you could not.
Dioc. Nor alone.
Cre. You had your fellow thieves about you, prince;
They conquered, and you killed.
170 Adr. [Aside.] Down, swelling heart!
'Tis for thy princess all:—O my Eurydice!—[To her.
Eur. [To him.] Reproach not thus the weakness of my sex,
As if I could not bear a shameful death,
Rather than see you burdened with a crime
Of which I know you free.
Cre. You do ill, madam,
To let your head-long love triumph o'er nature:
Dare you defend your father's murderer?