Designed to make me blest! Was ever woman
So gracious and so comely? And I scorned her
For her Greek blood and love of liberty!
Fool! purblind fool! there is no other like her;
I glory being her slave.
Irene. I pray you, pardon me, my Lord Asander.
I seek the Lady Gycia; is she here?
Asan. No, madam; she has gone, and with her taken
The glory of the night. But thou dost love her—