Alb. I'll then return alone to fetch you hence.
Maria. If you should now deceive me, having gain'd
What you men seek for——
Alb. Sooner I'll deceive
My soul—and so, I fear, I have.
[Aside.
Maria. At your first call, I will descend.
Alb. Till when this touch of lips be the true pledge
Of Carracus' constant true devoted love.
Maria. Be sure you stay not long; farewell;
I cannot lend an ear to hear you part.
[Exit Maria.
Alb. But you did lend a hand unto my entrance.
[He descends.
How have I wrong'd my friend, my faithful friend!
Robb'd him of what's more precious than his blood,
His earthly heaven, the unspotted honour
Of his soul-joying mistress! the fruition of whose bed
I yet am warm of; whilst dear Carracus
Wanders this cold night through th' unshelt'ring field,
Seeking me, treacherous man; yet no man neither,
Though in an outward show of such appearance,
But am a devil indeed; for so this deed
Of wronged love and friendship rightly makes me.
I may compare my friend to one that's sick,
Who, lying on his deathbed, calls to him
His dearest-thought friend, and bids him go
To some rare-gifted man, that can restore
His former health: this his friend sadly hears,
And vows with protestations to fulfil
His wish'd desires with his best performance;
But then, no sooner seeing that the death
Of his sick friend would add to him some gain,
Goes not to seek a remedy to save,
But, like a wretch, hies[374] him to dig his grave;
As I have done for virtuous Carracus.
Yet, Albert, be not reasonless, to endanger
What thou may'st yet secure; who can detect
The crime of thy licentious appetite?—
I hear one's pace! 'tis surely Carracus.
Enter Carracus.