Poliph. At your pleasure. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The same. A Room in the same.
Shouts within. Enter Cleora and Timandra.
Timand. They are at our gates: my heart! affrights and horrors
Increase each minute. No way left to save us,
No flattering hope to comfort us, or means,
But miracle, to redeem us from base wrongs
And lawless rapine! Are there gods, yet suffer
Such innocent sweetness to be made the spoil
Of brutish violence? And, of these rebel slaves,
He that should offer up his life to guard you,
Marullo, cursed Marullo, your own bondman,
Purchased to serve you, and fed by your favours—
Nay, start not: it is he; he, the grand captain
Of these libidinous beasts, that have not left
One cruel act undone that barbarous conquest
Yet ever practised in a captive city;
He, doting on your beauty, and to have fellows
In his foul sin, hath raised these mutinous slaves.
Wring not your hands, 'tis bootless; use the means
That may preserve you. 'Tis no crime to break
A vow when you are forced to it; show your face,
And with the majesty of commanding beauty
Strike dead his loose affections: if that fail,
Give liberty to your tongue, and use entreaties:
There cannot be a breast of flesh and blood,
Or heart so made of flint, but must receive
Impression from your words; or eyes so stern,
But, from the clear reflection of your tears,
Must melt, and bear them company. Will you not
Do these good offices to yourself? poor I, then,
Can only weep your fortune.—Here he comes.
Enter Marullo, speaking at the door.
Mar. He that advances
A foot beyond this comes upon my sword:
You have had your ways, disturb not mine.
Timand. Speak gently;
Her fears may kill her else.
Mar. Now Love inspire me!
Still shall this canopy of envious night
Obscure my suns of comfort? and those dainties
Of purest white and red, which I take in at
My greedy eyes, denied my famish'd senses?—
The organs of your hearing yet are open;
And you infringe no vow, though you vouchsafe
To give them warrant to convey unto
Your understanding parts the story of
A tortured and despairing lover, whom
Not fortune but affection marks your slave:—
Shake not, best lady! for, believe 't, you are
As far from danger as I am from force:
All violence I shall offer tends no further
Than to relate my sufferings, which I dare not
Presume to do, till, by some gracious sign,
You show you are pleased to hear me.
Timand. If you are,
Hold forth your right hand.
[Cleora holds forth her right hand.