Her. Here, sir, on
Her knees, begging your pardon or your pity.
Pin. Canst thou hope either from my injur'd patience,
Vex'd by thy folly into rage and madness?
What colour now to cover disobedience?
Is Lysicles unworthy? or your knowledge,
Does it pierce farther than the eyes of all
Into Eugenie's virtues? I tremble,
When I think thou may'st have cause
To know him to thy shame. Do not confess it!
By the just gods, if I do come to know it,
I'll sacrifice thee on thy mother's tomb.
Her. What secret sin calls down this punishment?
That I should be accused of a fault
I dare not hear the sound of. Add not, sir,
Suspicions of new crimes unto your rage;
The faults I have committed are enough to arm
Your justice. Bring me to the tomb,
And kill me there; my mother's ghost will smile
To see my blood shed to preserve my faith.
Pin. Your faith!
Her. Yes, sir.
Nor is my disobedience so swoll'n
As you esteem it by your passion:
I now obey your general commands,
Of doing virtuously in loving him
You did applaud whilst my poor brother liv'd.
Pin. But you are not the same; 'twas never meant
He should enjoy you if your brother died.
Her. I was not made acquainted with so much;
But, strengthen'd by your approbation,
Gave up my will to his, and vows to heaven,
To know no other man for husband.
Pin. Nor I no child, if you continue thus:
Nor will I argue more to make you doubt,
I am not resolute in my intents:
Alive or dead, I'll give thee to the hands
Of Lysicles. [Exit Pindarus.
Her. Good gods' if you are mov'd with tears,
Grant this a trial only of the weak proportion
Of virtue you have lent me, not the overthrow.