Ban. Thy love, fair Ardia.
Ard. Then I pray you, sir,
Move thy forbearance yet one farther step
And pluck this boon for me. 'Tis near thy hand,
And O, how small a thing for you to give,
But as the sun of all my days to me!
Without it I may die——
Ban. Speak not of death. So sweet
I'll shelter thee, Death's self must bloom
If he creep near thy bower.
Ard. May I, my lord,
Keep honored place by thee when memory mocks
That place and honor? Grant me this, but this,
And here I swear if any act of man
May move a widowed heart, mine shall grow warm
To thee!
Ban. Do you speak truth?
Ard. Believe me, sir,
So dear a thing is this for which I sue,
That he who gives it must grow dear thereby;
And if he lift to him my prostrate life,
This gentle moment shall immortal be
And sweeten every hour we pass together.
Remembering this, my captive breast shall be
His free dominion, and my lips on his,
If they know warmth, shall take it from this cause,
This first dear tenderness.
Ban. We'll please you, mistress.
Bring in the man again.
[Exit a guard]
Vig. I beg you, prince——
Ban. By Allah, she shall have her beggar wish,
For no more reason than she wishes it!