Proud honor's choice? Were daggers grown too blunt
To pierce fair flesh? What, not a rope—nor cord?
No garters—strips of silken robes——
Aris. O, spare
To accuse a soul who erred that she might still
Be true to Heaven.
Dion. True? By Pallas! True?
Aris. Sir, she obeyed the gods who bid us wait
And work on earth our destiny.
Dion. The gods