Jul. No—I can not forgive.
Rod. Upon my knee, my conqueror, I implore—
Upon the earth, before thy feet—hard heart!
Jul. Audacious! hast thou never heard that prayer
And scorned it? ’tis the last thou shouldst repeat.
Upon the earth! upon her knees! O God!
Rod. Resemble not a wretch so lost as I:
Be better; Oh! be happier; and pronounce it.
Jul. I swerve not from my purpose: thou art mine,
Conquered; and I have sworn to dedicate,
Like a torn banner on my chapel’s roof,
Thee to that power from whom thou hast rebelled.
Expiate thy crimes by prayer, by penances.
Rod. Hasten the hour of trial, speak of peace.
Pardon me not, then—but with purer lips
Implore of God, who would hear thee, to pardon.
Jul. Hope it I may—pronounce it—O Roderigo!
Ask it of him who can; I too will ask,
And, in my own transgressions, pray for thine.
Rod. One name I dare not—
Jul. Go—abstain from that,
I do conjure thee: raise not in my soul
Again the tempest that has wrecked my fame;
Thou shalt not breathe in the same clime with her.
Far o’er the unebbing sea thou shalt adore
The eastern star, and—may thy end be peace.