Pan. [from within.] Black powers!
Ant. And cry.
Mar. [from within.] O Heaven!
Ant. And close laments with——.
Mel.[255] [from beneath.] O me, most miserable!
Pan. Woe for my dear, dear son! 70
Mar. Woe for my dear, dear husband!
Mel. Woe for my dear, dear love!
Ant. Woe for me all, close all your woes in me!
In me, Antonio!—ha! where live these sounds?
I can see nothing; grief’s invisible,
And lurks in secret angles of the heart.
Come, sigh again, Antonio bears his part.
Mel. O here, here is a vent to pass my sighs.
I have surcharged the dungeon with my plaints.
Prison and heart will burst, if void of vent. 80
Ay, that is Phœbe, empress of the night,
That ’gins to mount; O chastest deity,
If I be false to my Antonio,
If the least soil of lust smears my pure love,
Make me more wretched, make me more accurs’d
Than infamy, torture, death, hell, and heaven,
Can bound with amplest power of thought: if not,
Purge my poor heart from[256] defamation’s blot.