Alm. It would do well to curb it, if we could.

Seb. We cannot look upon each other’s face, But, when we read our love, we read our guilt:  And yet, methinks, I cannot chuse but love.

Aim. I would have asked you, if I durst for shame,
If still you loved? you gave it air before me. 
Ah, why were we not born both of a sex? 
For then we might have loved without a crime. 
Why was not I your brother? though that wish
Involved our parents’ guilt, we had not parted;
We had been friends, and friendship is no incest.

Seb. Alas, I know not by what name to call thee! 
Sister and wife are the two dearest names,
And I would call thee both, and both are sin. 
Unhappy we! that still we must confound
The dearest names into a common curse.

Alm. To love, and be beloved, and yet be wretched!

Seb. To have but one poor night of all our lives;
It was indeed a glorious, guilty night;
So happy, that—­forgive me, heaven!—­I wish,
With all its guilt, it were to come again. 
Why did we know so soon, or why at all,
That sin could be concealed in such a bliss?
Alm. Men have a larger privilege of words,
Else I should speak; but we must part, Sebastian,—­
That’s all the name that I have left to call thee;—­
I must not call thee by the name I would;
But when I say Sebastian, dear Sebastian,
I kiss the name I speak.

Seb. We must make haste, or we shall never part. 
I would say something that’s as dear as this;
Nay, would do more than say:  One moment longer,
And I should break through laws divine and human,
And think them cobwebs spread for little man,
Which all the bulky herd of nature breaks. 
The vigorous young world was ignorant
Of these restrictions; ’tis decrepit now;
Not more devout, but more decayed, and cold.—­
All this is impious, therefore we must part;
For, gazing thus, I kindle at thy sight,
And, once burnt down to tinder, light again
Much sooner than before.

  Re-enter DORAX.

Alm. Here comes the sad denouncer of my fate,
To toll the mournful knell of separation;
While I, as on my deathbed, hear the sound,
That warns me hence for ever.

Seb. [To DOR.] Now be brief,
And I will try to listen,
And share the minute, that remains, betwixt
The care I owe my subjects, and my love.

Dor. Your fate has gratified you all she can;
Gives easy misery, and makes exile pleasing. 
I trusted Muley-Zeydan as a friend,
But swore him first to secrecy:  He wept
Your fortune, and with tears not squeezed by art,
But shed from nature, like a kindly shower: 
In short, he proffered more than I demanded;
A safe retreat, a gentle solitude,
Unvexed with noise, and undisturbed with fears. 
I chose you one—­