Isab. What shall I say!  That monster of a man,
Harman,—­now I have named him, think the rest,—­
Alone, and singled like a timorous hind
From the full herd, by flattery drew me first,
Then forced me to an act, so base and brutal! 
Heaven knows my innocence:  But, why do I
Call that to witness! 
Heaven saw, stood silent:  Not one flash of lightning
Shot from the conscious firmament, to shew its justice: 
Oh had it struck us both, it had saved me!

Tow. Heaven suffered more in that, than you, or I,
Wherefore have I been faithful to my trust,
True to my love, and tender to the opprest? 
Am I condemned to be the second man,
Who e’er complained he virtue served in vain? 
But dry your tears, these sufferings all are mine. 
Your breast is white, and cold as falling snow;
You, still as fragrant as your eastern groves;
And your whole frame as innocent, and holy,
As if your being were all soul and spirit,
Without the gross allay of flesh and blood. 
Come to my arms again!

Isab. O never, never! 
I am not worthy now; my soul indeed
Is free from sin; but the foul speckled stains
Are from my body ne’er to be washed out,
But in my death.  Kill me, my love, or I
Must kill myself; else you may think I was
A black adultress in my mind, and some
Of me consented.

Tow. Your wish to die, shews you deserve to live. 
I have proclaimed you guiltless to myself. 
Self-homicide, which was, in heathens, honour,
In us, is only sin.

Isab. I thought the Eternal Mind
Had made us masters of these mortal frames;
You told me, he had given us wills to chuse,
And reason to direct us in our choice;
If so, why should he tie us up from dying,
When death’s the greater good?

Tow. Can death, which is our greatest enemy, be good? 
Death is the dissolution of our nature;
And nature therefore does abhor it most,
Whose greatest law is—­to preserve our beings.

Isab. I grant, it is its great and general law: 
But as kings, who are, or should be, above laws,
Dispense with them when levelled at themselves;
Even so may man, without offence to heaven,
Dispense with what concerns himself alone. 
Nor is death in itself an ill;
Then holy martyrs sinned, who ran uncalled
To snatch their martyrdom; and blessed virgins,
Whom you celebrate for voluntary death,
To free themselves from that which I have suffered.

Tow. They did it, to prevent what might ensue; Your shame’s already past.

Isab. It may return, If I am yet so mean to live a little longer.

Tow. You know not; heaven may give you succour yet; You see it sends me to you.

Isab. ’Tis too late, You should have come before.