Ard. None will better serve
Where he is master. O, this spear-torn land
Shall flower to heaven and mate her bloom with stars!
Ber. A bloom that dies with me?
Ard. Death cannot make
The spirit barren.
Ber. [At distance] Through me my father hopes
To found a princely house o'er-topping Asia
With Christ-lit towers.
Ard. Oh!... Then you will wed.
Ber. [His eyes down] My bride is chosen.
Ard. [Rising] Chosen? [Sits again]
Nay.... I know....
Ber. [Returning] Your hidden eyes hide not the loathing there
For me forsworn. Why have I troubled you?
Look on me, Ardia. I am not yet fallen.
I take your answer. You have chosen my way,
And I set forth upon it—not forsworn.
Ard. That word is naught. I do not think of it.
Ber. Must man not keep his pledge?