Enter Claudilla, and Dessandro in a nightgown.
Claud. I am at extremity of wonder.
Des. The story may deserve it, lady; when you shall
Cast your thoughts upon the man it treats on;
The circumstances and progress of my love:
Nay, it may raise your anger higher than your wonder;
And work the modest pantings of your breast
Into a hectic rage. I saw this tempest
Gather'd in a cloud, dismal and black, ready to break
Its womb in storms upon me; and I have cast
My soul on every frown and horror you can arm
Your passion with. I have held conflict with the wilder
Guilt and tremblings of my blood to rescue it; but
Heaven and my angry fate has thrown me grovelling
At your feet; and I want soul to break the charm.
Claud. This is a strange mystery, to betray my virtue
With your own; and I shall sin to hear it.
Des. If pity be a sin, lock up those beauties
From the view of men; or they will damn all the
Eyes that look upon you.
Claud. Has your blood lost all the virtue it should inherit?
And think you by this treacherous siege to take
My honour in? Let me shun you, or you will
Talk me leprous.
Des. Do, madam.
Tear up the wounds your eyes have made——
I'll keep them bleeding sacrifices to your cruelty.
And when cold Death has cast his gloomy shade
O'er this dust, perhaps you may bestow one gentle
Sigh to hallow it: when you shall know
The height of my desires was but to die worthy
Of your pardon, without the ambition of a bolder thought:
And still had scorch'd and smother'd here without
A tongue, only to beg your mercy to my grave.
Claud. Play not yourself into a shame will rūst your brightest
Worths, and hide your dust in curses and black fame:
I now shall think your valour flatter'd, that can
Sink it to such effeminate and lovesick crafts,
For our stale women to mollify the usher with.
Dessandro has a fame, high and active as the voice
It flies on; and could you wander from your
Religious self in such a dream as this?
Cleara's virtue has an interest near your heart,
Should wake you to your first man again.
Des. Cleara still is here in the first sculpture of
Her virtues; and I their honourer.
Claud. No more!——
My grief and shame are passionate, to find
So much bad man got near your heart; and shows
This sick complexion in your honour, more
Tainted than the face of your imposture.——
You have play'd the excellent counterfeit, and your skill
Does make you proud: you cannot blush— [Exit.