Luc. She lives, and shall be yours.
Cipr. Not if herself,
In more than all her living beauty breathing,
Come to efface that deadly counterfeit.—
Oh, what have I been doing all this while,
From which I wake as from a guilty dream,
But with my guilt’s accomplice at my side
To prove its terrible reality?
Where were my ears, my eyes, my senses? where
The mother-wit which serves the common boor,