Dem.  What shall I doe?

Cel.  Live a lost man for ever. 
Go ask your Fathers conscience what I suffered,
And through what seas of hazards I sayl’d through: 
Mine honour still advanced in spight of tempests,
Then take your leave of love; and confess freely,
You were never worthy of this heart that serv’d ye,
And so farewel ungratefull—­ [Exit.

Dem.  Is she gone?

Leo.  I’le follow her, and will find out this matter.—­ [Exit.

Enter Antigonus, and Lords.

Ant.  Are ye pleas’d now? have you got your heart again?  Have I restor’d ye that?

Dem.  Sir even for Heaven sake, And sacred truth sake, tell me how ye found her.

Ant.  I will, and in few words.  Before I tri’d her, ’Tis true, I thought her most unfit your fellowship, And fear’d her too:  which fear begot that story I told ye first:  but since, like gold I toucht her.

Dem.  And how dear Sir?

Ant.  Heavens holy light’s not purer: 
The constancy and goodness of all women
That ever liv’d, to win the names of worthy,
This noble Maid has doubled in her:  honour,
All promises of wealth, all art to win her,
And by all tongues imploy’d, wrought as much on her
As one may doe upon the Sun at noon day
By lighting Candles up:  her shape is heavenly,
And to that heavenly shape her thoughts are angels.

Dem.  Why did you tell me Sir?

Ant.  ’Tis true, I err’d in’t: 
But since I made a full proof of her vertue,
I find a King too poor a servant for her. 
Love her, and honour her; in all observe her. 
She must be something more than time yet tells her: 
And certain I believe him b[l]est, enjoyes her: 
I would not lose the hope of such a Daughter,
To adde another Empire to my honour.—­ [Exit.

Dem.  O wretched state! to what end shall I turn me? 
And where begins my penance? now, what service
Will win her love again? my death must doe it: 
And if that sacrifice can purge my follies,
Be pleas’d, O mightie Love, I dye thy servant—­ [Exit.

ACTUS QUINTUS.  SCENA PRIMA.

Enter Leontius, and Celia.

Leo.  I know he do’s not deserve ye; h’as us’d you poorly:  And to redeem himself—­

Cel.  Redeem?

Leo.  I know it—­ There’s no way left.

Cel.  For Heavens sake do not name him, Do not think on him Sir, he’s so far from me In all my thoughts now, methinks I never knew him.

Leo.  But yet I would see him again.

Cel.  No, never, never.

Leo.  I do not mean to lend him any comfort;
But to afflict him, so to torture him;
That even his very Soul may shake within him: 
To make him know, though he be great and powerfull,
’Tis not within his aim to deal dishonourably,
And carry it off; and with a maid of your sort.