Queen. But he is not wounded?
Dec. Not to death, perhaps;
But certainly w' have open'd him a vein,
Will cure the fever of his blood.
Queen. O, stay!
Dec. Torment! And doth she weep? I might have fall'n
Down from some murdering precipice to dust,
And miss'd the mercy of one tear, though it
Would have redeem'd me back to life again.
Accurs'd be that felicity that must
Depend on woman's passion. [Aside.
Queen. [Solil.] Florentio!
If in my quarrel thou too suddenly
Art lost i' th' shades of death, O, let me find
The holy vault where thy pale earth must lie,
There will I grow and wither.
Dec. This is strange!
My heart swells much too big to be kept in. [Aside.
Queen. [Solil.] But if that providence, which rules the world,
Hath, to preserve the stock of virtue, kept
Thee yet alive——
Dec. And what, if yet alive?
Pray, recollect your reason, and consider
My long and faithful service to your crown;
The fame of my progenitors, and that
Devotion the whole kingdom bears me. How
Hath nature punish'd me, that, bringing all
The strength of argument to force your judgment,
I cannot move your love?
Queen. My lord, you plead
With so much arrogance, and tell a story
So gallant for yourself, as if I were
Exposed a prize to the cunning'st orator.
Dec. No, madam, humbler far than the tann'd slave
Tied to th' oar, I here throw down myself [Kneels.
And all my victories. Dispose of me
To death; for what hath life merits esteem?
What tie, alas! can I have to the world,
Since you disdain my love?