Ind. Not that I valued life, but feared to die:  Think that my weakness, not inconstancy.

Aur. Fear showed you doubted of your own intent: 
And she, who doubts, becomes less innocent. 
Tell me not you could fear;
Fear’s a large promiser; who subject live
To that base passion, know not what they give. 
No circumstance of grief you did deny;
And what could she give more, who durst not die?

Ind. My love, my faith.

Aur. Both so adulterate grown,
When mixed with fear, they never could be known. 
I wish no ill might her I love befal;
But she ne’er loved, who durst not venture all. 
Her life and fame should my concernment be;
But she should only be afraid for me.

Ind. My heart was yours; but, oh! you left it here,
Abandoned to those tyrants, hope and fear;
If they forced from me one kind look, or word,
Could you not that, not that small part afford?

Aur. If you had loved, you nothing yours could call;
Giving the least of mine, you gave him all. 
True love’s a miser; so tenacious grown,
He weighs to the least grain of what’s his own;
More delicate than honour’s nicest sense,
Neither to give nor take the least offence. 
With, or without you, I can have no rest: 
What shall I do? you’re lodged within my breast: 
Your image never will be thence displaced;
But there it lies, stabbed, mangled, and defaced.

Ind. Yet to restore the quiet of your heart, There’s one way left.

Aur. Oh, name it.

Ind. ’Tis to part.  Since perfect bliss with me you cannot prove, I scorn to bless by halves the man I love.

Aur. Now you distract me more:  Shall then the day,
Which views my triumph, see our loves decay? 
Must I new bars to my own joy create? 
Refuse myself what I had forced from fate? 
What though I am not loved? 
Reason’s nice taste does our delights destroy: 
Brutes are more blessed, who grossly feed on joy.

Ind. Such endless jealousies your love pursue,
I can no more be fully blessed than you. 
I therefore go, to free us both from pain: 
I prized your person, but your crown disdain. 
Nay, even my own—­
I give it you; for, since I cannot call
Your heart my subject, I’ll not reign at all. [Exit.

Aur. Go:  Though thou leav’st me tortured on the rack,
’Twixt shame and pride, I cannot call thee back.—­
She’s guiltless, and I should submit; but oh! 
When she exacts it, can I stoop so low? 
Yes; for she’s guiltless; but she’s haughty too. 
Great souls long struggle ere they own a crime: 
She’s gone; and leaves me no repenting time. 
I’ll call her now; sure, if she loves, she’ll stay;
Linger at least, or not go far away.
                                    [Looks to the door, and returns.
For ever lost! and I repent too late. 
My foolish pride would set my whole estate,
Till, at one throw, I lost all back to fate.