Luc. [counterfeiting her voice.]
The world has no temptations for a mind
So fixed and raised above it;
This humble cell contains and bounds my wishes: 
My charity gives you my prayers, and that’s
All my converse with human kind.

Duke. Since when, madam, have the world and you been upon these equal terms of hostility?  Time was, you have been better friends.

Luc. No doubt I have been vain, and sinful; but the remembrance of those days cannot be pleasant to me now, and therefore, if you please, do not refresh their memory.

Duke. Their memory! you speak as if they were ages past.

Luc. You think me still what I was once—­a vain, fond, giddy creature:  I see, sir, whither your discourses tend, and therefore take my leave.

Duke. Yes, madam, I know you see whither my discourses tend, and therefore ’twill not be convenient that you should take your leave.  Disguise yourself no farther; you are known, as well as you knew me in masquerade.

Luc. I am not used enough to the world to interpret riddles; therefore, once more, heaven keep you.

Duke. This will not do; your voice, your mien, your stature, betray you for the same I saw last night:  you know the time and place.

Luc. You were not in this chapel, and I am bound by vow to stir no farther.

Duke. But you had too much wit to keep that vow.

Luc. If you persist, sir, in this raving madness, I can bring witness of my innocence. [Is going.

Duke. To save that labour, see if you know that hand, and let that justify you. [Shows her letter.

Luc. What do I see! my ruin is inevitable.

Duke. You know you merit it:  You used me ill, and now are in my power.

Luc. But you, I hope, are much too noble to Destroy the fame of a poor silly woman?

Duke. Then, in few words,—­for I am bred a soldier,
And must speak plain,—­it is your love I ask;
If you deny, this letter is produced;
You know the consequence.

Luc. I hope I do not;
For though there are appearances against me,
Enough to give you hope I durst not shun you,
Yet, could you see my heart, ’tis a white virgin-tablet,
On which no characters of earthly love
Were ever writ:  And, ’twixt the prince and me,
If there were any criminal affection,
May heaven this minute—­

Duke. Swear not; I believe you: 
For, could I think my son had e’er enjoyed you,
I should not be his rival.  Since he has not,
I may have so much kindness for myself,
To wish that happiness.

Luc. You ask me what I must not grant, Nor, if I loved you, would:  you know my vow of chastity.