2d Slave. That we swore falsely, may it please your grace;
Hir'd by my lord with gifts and promises:
And as I now have spoke the truth, so Heaven
Forgive my former perjury!
Ver. Hear you, cousin?
1st Slave. Would you would say something:
I have nettles in my breeches.
Lor. Now, now, I hope, your eyes are open, lords;
The bed of snakes is broke, the trick's come out,
And here's the knot i' th' rush. Good Heaven, good Heaven!
That craft, in seeking to put on disguise,
Should so discover herself!
Ver. Explain yourself!
Lor. Now see, sir, where this scorpion lurks, to sting
Mine honour unto death. This noble duke
By nature is engaged to defend a sister;
And to this duke so engag'd this malicious lord—
For sin still hates her scourger—makes repair,
And prepossesses him with that suppos'd innocence
Of an injur'd sister, which he had hir'd this slave
To follow him and affirm, and lays the cause
To scruple and to conscience: they did consent
To steal belief by seeming accident.
Sin, juggler-like, casts sin before our eyes:
Craft sometimes steals the wonder of the wise.
With an equal hand now weigh me, and if I want
A grain of honour, tear me from your blood,
And cast me to contempt.
1st Slave. My lord would have made an excellent state-sophister.
[Aside.
Ver. In what a strange dilemma judgment sits,
Charm'd to her chair with wonder!
Ven. Shall I have justice?