Dor. Oh, kill me,[Kneels.
And heaven will take it as a sacrifice;
But, if you play the ravisher, there is
A hell to swallow you.
Anton. Rise:—for the Roman empire, Dorothea,
I would not wound thine honour. My father's will
Would have me seize upon you, as my prey;
Which I abhor, as much as the blackest sin
The villany of man did ever act.
[Sapritius breaks in with Macrinus.
Dor. Die happy for this language!
Sap. Die a slave,
A blockish idiot!
Mac. Dear sir, vex him not.
Sap. Yes, and vex thee too: where's this lamia[46]?
Dor. I'm here; do what you please.
Dor. Come, boy, being there, more near to heaven we are.
Sap. Kick harder; go out, witch! [Exeunt.