Octavio. Nay, in cold blood he did confess this to me:
And having construed my astonishment
Into a scruple of his power, he shewed me 180
His written evidences—shewed me letters,
Both from the Saxon and the Swede, that gave
Promise of aidance, and defin'd the amount.
Max. It cannot be!—can not be! can not be!
Dost thou not see, it cannot! 185
Thou wouldest of necessity have shewn him
Such horror, such deep loathing—that or he
Had taken thee for his better genius, or
Thou stood'st not now a living man before me—
Octavio. I have laid open my objections to him, [190]
Dissuaded him with pressing earnestness;
But my abhorrence, the full sentiment
Of my whole heart—that I have still kept sacred
To my own consciousness.
Max. And thou hast been
So treacherous? That looks not like my father! [195]
I trusted not thy words, when thou didst tell me
Evil of him; much less can I now do it,
That thou calumniatest thy own self.
Octavio. I did not thrust myself into his secrecy.
Max. Uprightness merited his confidence. 200
Octavio. He was no longer worthy of sincerity.
Max. Dissimulation, sure, was still less worthy
Of thee, Octavio!
Octavio. Gave I him a cause
To entertain a scruple of my honour?
Max. That he did not, evinced his confidence. [205]