Mar. I do not hold thee, brother, for a man,
For it is reasonless to mock calamity:
If he die innocent, thrice-happy soul;
If guilty, weep that man should so transgress:
Nature of reason thus much doth importune,
Man should partake in grief with man's misfortune.
Epire. For him, if e'er mine eyes weep, may they drop out,
And leave my body blinder than my sense:
Pity my foe, the ruin of my house,
My valour's scandal, and mine honour's poison!
No, let him fall, for blood must still quench lust,
Law hath condemn'd him, then his death is just.
Mar. Spit out that monster envy, it corrupts you,
And mildly hear me answer for my love.
What did he 'gainst you was not honourable,
Which you 'gainst him would not have gladly done?
Will you hate him for acting your own thoughts?
Can it be ill in him, yet good in you?
Let reason weigh this difference, then you'll find
His honour poises down his infamy.
Epire. Canst thou love him that brought thee to thy death?
Mar. No, like a God he made me with his breath.
Epire. Did he not win thy love, and then reject thee?
Mar. His honour, not his love doth now neglect me.
Epire. Fond maid, thy foolish dotage doth mistake him.
Mar. Hell shall have mercy, ere I will forsake him.
Epire. Farewell then, sister, friend to my greatest foe:
Revenge strikes home, being ended with one blow.