Permit his death, and Julia will be yours.
_Jul_. Permit it not, and Julia will thank you.
_Gons_. Who e'er could think, that one kind word from Julia
Should be preferred to Julia herself?
Could any man think it a greater good
To save a rival, than possess a mistress?
Yet this I do! these are thy riddles, love!--
What fortune gives me, I myself destroy;
And feed my virtue, but to starve my joy.
Honour sits on me like some heavy armour,
And with its stiff defence, encumbers me;
And yet, when I would put it off, it sticks
Like Hercules's shirt; heats me at once;
And poisons me!
_Man_. I find myself grow calm by thy example;
My panting heart heaves less and less, each pulse;
And all the boiling spirits scatter from it.
Since thou desirest he should not die, he shall not,
'Till I on nobler terms can take his life.
_Rod_. The next turn may be yours.--Remember,
I owed this danger to your wilfulness:
Once, you might easily have been mine, and would
not. [_Exit_ RODORICK.
_Man_. Lead out my sister, friend; her hurt's so
small,
'Twill scarce disturb the ceremony.
Ladies, once more your pardons.
[_Leads out the Company. Exeunt_.
_Manent_ JULIA, GONSALVO, AMIDEO, _and_ HIPPOLITO. GONSALVO
_offers his hand,_ JULIA _pulls back hers_.
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