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.

Jul.  This strange unkindness of my Rodorick
I owe to thee, and thy unlucky love;
Henceforth go lock it up within thy breast;
’Tis only harmless while it is concealed,
But, opened, spreads infection like a vault. 
Go, and my curse go with thee!—­

Gons.  I cannot go ’till I behold you happy:—­
—­Here, Rodorick, receive her on thy knees;
Use her with that respect, which thou would’st pay
Thy guardian angel, if he could be seen. 
—­Do not provoke my anger by refusing.—­
I’ll watch thy least offence to her; each word,
Nay, every sullen look;—­
And, as the devils, who are damned to torments,
Yet have the guilty souls their slaves to punish;
So, under me, while I am wretched, thou
Shalt be tormented.—­

Rod.  Would’st thou make me the tenant of thy lust,
To toil, and for my labour take the dregs,
The juicy vintage being left for thee? 
No:  she’s an infamous, lewd prostitute: 
I loath her at my soul.

Gons.  I can forbear No longer:  swallow down thy lie, foul villain.

[They fight off the stage.  Exeunt.

Jul.  Help, help!

Amid.  Here is that witch, whose fatal beauty Began the mischief; she shall pay for all.

[Goes to kill JULIA.

Hip.  I hate her for it more than thou canst do; But cannot see her die, my master loves.

[Goes between with her sword.

Enter GONSALVO, following RODORICK, who falls.

Rod.  So, now I am at rest:—­
I feel death rising higher still, and higher,
Within my bosom; every breath I fetch
Shuts up my life within a shorter compass,
And, like the vanishing sound of bells, grows less
And less each pulse, ’till it be lost in air.