_Jul_. Still sullen and unkind!
_Rod_. Why, then, in short,
I do not understand the benefit.
_Gons_. Not to have Julia in thy free possession?
_Rod_. Not brought by you; not of another's leaving.
_Jul_. Speak softly, Rodorick: Let not these hear thee;
But spare my shame for the ill choice I made,
In loving thee.
_Rod_. I will speak loud, and tell thee,
Thou com'st, all cloyed and tired with his embraces,
To proffer thy palled love to me; his kisses
Do yet bedew thy lips; the very print,
His arms made round thy body, yet remains.
_Gons_. O barbarous jealousy!
_Jul_. 'Tis an harsh word:
I am too pure for thee; but yet I love thee.
[_Offers to take his hand_.
_Rod_. Away, foul impudence.
_Gons_. Madam, you wrong
Your virtue, thus to clear it by submission.
_Jul_. Whence grows this boldness, sir? did I ask you
To be my champion?
_Rod_. He chose to be your friend, and not your husband:
Left that dull part of dignity to me;
As often the worst actors play the kings.
_Jul_. This jealousy is but excess of passion,
Which grows up, wild, in every lover's breast;
But changes kind when planted in an husband.
_Rod_. Well, what I am, I am; and what I will be,
When you are mine, my pleasure shall determine.
I will receive no law from any man.
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