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.

Jul.  This hand would rise in blisters, should’st thou touch it!—­ My Roderick’s displeased with me, and thou, Unlucky man, the cause.  Dare not so much As once to follow me. [Exit JULIA.

Gons.  Not follow her!  Alas, she need not bid me! 
Oh, how could I presume to take that hand,
To which mine proved so fatal! 
Nay, if I might, should I not fear to touch it?—­
murderer’s touch would make it bleed afresh!

Amid.  I think, sir, I could kill her for your sake.

Gons.  Repent that word, or I shall hate thee
Strangely: 
Harsh words from her, like blows from angry kings,
Though they are meant affronts, are construed favours.

Hip.  Her inclinations and aversions
Are both alike unjust; and both, I hope,
Too violent to last:  Chear up yourself;
for if I live, (I hope I shall not long) [Aside. 
She shall be yours.

Amid.  ’Twere much more noble in him,
To make a conquest of himself, than her. 
She ne’er can merit him; and, hadst not thou
A mean low soul, thou wouldst not name her to him.

Hip.  Poor child, who would’st be wise above thy years! 
Why dost thou talk, like a philosopher,
Of conquering love, who art not yet grown up,
To try the force of any manly passion? 
The sweetness of thy mother’s milk is yet
Within thy veins, not soured and turned by love.

Gons.  Thou hast not field enough in thy young breast, To entertain such storms to struggle in.

Amid.  Young as I am, I know the power of love;
Its less disquiets, and its greater cares,
And all that’s in it, but the happiness. 
Trust a boy’s word, sir, if you please, and take
My innocence for wisdom; Leave this lady;
Cease to persuade yourself you are in love,
And you will soon be freed.  Not that I wish
A thing, so noble as your passion, lost
To all the sex:  Bestow it on some other;
You’ll find many as fair, though none so cruel.—­
Would I could be a lady for your sake!

Hip.  If I could be a woman, with a wish, You should not be without a rival long.