Lor. O my Abstemia! who cast thy fate so bad,
To clip[169] affliction, like a husband clad? [Exeunt.
Enter Antonio and Abstemia.
Abs. Good sir, the prince makes known his wisdom,
To make you speaker in his cause.
Ant. Me? know, mistress,
I have felt love's passions equal with himself,
And can discourse of love's cause: had you seen him
When he sent me to ye, how truly he did look;
And when your name slipp'd through his trembling lips,
A lover's lovely paleness straight possess'd him.
Abs. Fie, fie!
Ant. Go, says he, to that something more than woman—
And he look'd as if by something he meant saint;
Tell her I saw heaven's army in her eyes,
And that from her chaste heart such excellent goodness
Came, like full rivers flowing, that there wants nothing
But her soft yielding will to make her wife
Unto the Prince Antonio. O, will you fly
A fortune, which great ladies would pursue
Upon their knees with prayers?
Abs. No, Lorenzo,
Had law to this new love made no denial:
A chaste wife's truth shines through the greatest trial.
Enter Morbo.
Mor. How now, what make you i' th' wood here?
Where's my old lady?