Dor. Why, is that news?
Alv. O horror, horror!
Dor. What, thou a statesman,
And make a business of damnation
In such a world as this! why, 'tis a trade;
The scrivener, usurer, lawyer, shopkeeper,
And soldier, cannot live but by damnation.
The politician does it by advance,
And gives all gone beforehand.
Seb. O thou hast given me such a glimpse of hell,
So pushed me forward, even to the brink
Of that irremeable burning gulph,
That, looking in the abyss, I dare not leap.
And now I see what good thou mean'st my soul,
And thank thy pious fraud; thou hast indeed
Appeared a devil, but didst an angel's work.
Dor. 'Twas the last remedy, to give you leisure;
For, if you could but think, I knew you safe.
Seb. I thank thee, my Alonzo; I will live,
But never more to Portugal return;
For, to go back and reign, that were to show
Triumphant incest, and pollute the throne.
Alv. Since ignorance—
Seb. O, palliate not my wound;
When you have argued all you can, 'tis incest.
No, 'tis resolved: I charge you plead no more;
I cannot live without Almeyda's sight,
Nor can I see Almeyda, but I sin.
Heaven has inspired me with a sacred thought,
To live alone to heaven, and die to her.
Dor. Mean you to turn an anchorite?
Seb. What else?
The world was once too narrow for my mind,
But one poor little nook will serve me now,
To hide me from the rest of human kind.
Africk has deserts wide enough to hold
438 Millions of monsters; and I am, sure, the greatest.