Eug. What should I do? I dare not trust my sense,
If he should tell me that it does deceive me:
Virtue itself would lose her quality
Ere he forsook her, and his words do fall
Distorted from him; his soul doth labour
Under some heavy burden, which my passion
Did hinder me from seeing. Sir, forgive,
Or take your full revenge; let your own griefs
Teach you to pity those are distract with it.
I will not rise until you pardon me.
Lys. O my Eugenio, thy kindness hath undone me!
My rage did choke my grief, which now did spread
Itself over my soul and body. Up, and help
To bear me till I fall eternally.
Eug. Who can hear this, and not be turn'd to marble?
Good sir, impart your sorrows; I may bring comfort.
Lys. Whilst they were capable, thou didst; but now
They are too great and swoll'n to let it in.
Milesia, whom you and I supposed dead,
By me to-day is poison'd, and lies dying
In her torment. Is not this strange?
Eug. What have you said that is not?
But heaven avert this last!
Lys. It is too late now; let me beg thy kindness
Would do that for me I forbad thy passion.
Eug. What is't?
Lys. Kill me.
Eug. You cannot wish me such an hated office!
Call up your reason and your courage to you,
Which was not given you only for the wars,
But to resist the batteries of fortune.
People will say that Lysicles did want
Part of that courage fame did speak him lord of,
When they shall hear him sunk below her succour.
Lys. You will not kill me then?