Leost. 'Tis my fault[127]:
Distrust of other springs, Timagoras,
From diffidence in ourselves: but I will strive,
With the assurance of my worth and merits,
To kill this monster, jealousy.
Timag. 'Tis a guest,
In wisdom, never to be entertain'd
On trivial probabilities; but, when
He does appear in pregnant proofs, not fashion'd
By idle doubts and fears to be received:
They make their own wrongs that are too secure,
As well as such as give them growth and being
From mere imagination. Though I prize
Cleora's honour equal with mine own,
And know what large additions of power
This match brings to our family, I prefer
Our friendship, and your peace of mind, so far
Above my own respects, or hers, that if
She hold not her true value in the test,
'Tis far from my ambition, for her cure,
That you should wound yourself.
Timand. This argues for me. [Aside.
Timag. Why she should be so passionate for a bondman,
Falls not in compass of my understanding,
But for some nearer interest; or he raise
This mutiny, if he loved her, as, you say,
She does confess he did, but to possess
The prize he ventured for, to me's a riddle.
Leost. I have answer'd that objection, in my strong
Assurance of her virtue.
Timag. 'Tis unfit, then,
That I should press it further.
Timand. Now I must
Make in, or all is lost.
[Rushes forward distractedly.
Timag. What would Timandra?
Leost. How wild she looks! How is it with thy lady?
Timag. Collect thyself, and speak.