[Exit.
Cli. Ah! thou wilt never come; thou’rt lost, lost, lost.
Ep. Pure, noble heart, why should I love thee more
Now thou art mad?—I did him wrong not yielding
To his delusions. He hath none to love him
But me, and I have let him think that I desert him.
—Go with him tho’ I cannot, I will follow,
And quickly too. To-morrow I’ll to Rome.
