Enter Lorenzo and Abstemia, as in prison.
Lor. Can then Abstemia forgive Lorenzo?
Abs. Yes, if Lorenzo can but love Abstemia,
She can hang thus upon his neck, and call
This prison true love's palace.
Lor. O, let kings
Forget their crowns that know what 'tis to enjoy
The wondrous wealth of one so good. Now
Thou art lovely as young[172] spring, and comely
As is the well-spread cedar; the fair fruit,
Kiss'd by the sun so daily, that it wears
The lovely blush of maids, seems but to mock
Thy soul's integrity. Here let me fall,
And with pleading sighs beg pardon.
Enter Antonio.
Abs. Sir, it meets you,
Like a glad pilgrim, whose desiring eye
Longs for the long-wish'd altar of his vow.
But you are far too prodigal in praise,
And crown me with the garlands of your merit.
As we meet barks on rivers, the strong gale
(Being best friends to us), our own swift motion
Makes us believe that t'other nimbler rows:
Swift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes.
Lor. Sorrow hath bravely sweeten'd thee! What are you?
Ant. A displeasant black cloud! though I appear dismal,
I am wondrous fruitful. What cause soever
Mov'd you to take this murder on yourself,
Or you to strike yourself into the hazard
For his redemption, 'tis to me a stranger!
But I conceive you are both innocent.
Lor. As newborn virtue. I did accuse
My innocence, to rid me of a life
Look'd uglier than death upon an injury
I had done this virtuous wife.