Ingen. No earthly lord can pull her out of that,
Till he have pluck'd my heart first out. My lord,
Were't not inhospitable, I could wrong you here
In my own house. I am so full of woe
For your lost sister, that by all my joys
Hoped for in her, my heart weeps tears of blood:
A whiter virgin and a worthier
Had ne'er creation; Leda's swan was black
To her virginity and immaculate thoughts.
Proudly. Where hast thou hid her? give her me again;
For, by the God of vengeance, be she lost,
The female hate shall spring betwixt our names
Shall never die, while one of either house
Survives: our children shall, at seven years old,
Strike knives in one another.
Ingen. Let hell gape
And take me quick, if I know where she is;
But am so charg'd with sorrow for her loss,
Being the cause of it (as no doubt I am),
That I had rather fall upon my sword
[Offering to kill himself.
Than breathe a minute longer.
Proudly. Thou shalt not need; I have a sword to bathe
In thy false blood, inhumane murderer.
Maid. Good sir, be pacified: I'll go, I'll run
Many a mile to find your sister out.
She never was so desperate of grace
By violence to rob herself of life,
And so her soul endanger. Comfort, sir;
She's but retired somewhere, on my life.
Ingen. Prythee, let me alone—
[To his brother.
Do I stand to defend that wretched life,
That is in doubt of hers? here, worthy lord,
Behold a breast fram'd of thy sister's love;
Hew it, for thou shalt strike but on a stock,
Since she is gone that was the cause it liv'd.
Proudly. Out, false dissembler! art not married?
Ingen. No; behold it is my younger brother dress'd;
[Plucks of his head-tire.