Count. Worse; if worse can be: I have ceased to deserve your love.
Countess. No: Ludolph hath spoken falsely for once; but Ludolph is not false.
Count. I have forfeited all I ever could boast of, your affection and my own esteem. Away with caresses! Repulse me, abjure me; hate, and never pardon me. Let the abject heart lie untorn by one remorse. Forgiveness would split and shiver what slavery but abased.
Countess. Again you embrace me; and yet tell me never to pardon you! O inconsiderate man! O idle deviser of impossible things!
But you have not introduced to me those who purchased your freedom, or who achieved it by their valour.
Count. Mercy! O God!
Countess. Are they dead? Was the plague abroad.
Count. I will not dissemble ... such was never my intention ... that my deliverance was brought about by means of——
Countess. Say it at once ... a lady.
Count. It was.