If, good my lord,
There were some other way to set us free,
Then Heaven knows how happy I should be!
But since it cannot be, to my regret,
And since my road to death is near and plain,
Keep back the brutal Roman sword, and let
The trophy of our lives with thee remain.
Though death be sure, it is my pleasure yet
To die within Diana's sacred fane;
Good husband, lead us, and in loving ire