Tor. Nothing can, But bloody vengeance on that traitor’s head,—­ Which, dear departed spirit, here I vow.

Leo. Here end our sorrows, and begin our joys: 
Love calls, my Torrismond; though hate has raged,
And ruled the day, yet love will rule the night. 
The spiteful stars have shed their venom down,
And now the peaceful planets take their turn. 
This deed of Bertran’s has removed all fears,
And given me just occasion to refuse him. 
What hinders now, but that the holy priest
In secret join our mutual vows? and then
This night, this happy night, is yours and mine.

Tor. Be still my sorrows, and be loud my joys. 
Fly to the utmost circles of the sea,
Thou furious tempest, that hast tossed my mind,
And leave no thought, but Leonora there.—­
What’s this I feel, a boding in my soul,
As if this day were fatal? be it so;
Fate shall but have the leavings of my love: 
My joys are gloomy, but withal are great. 
The lion, though he sees the toils are set,
Yet, pinched with raging hunger, scowers away,
Hunts in the face of danger all the day;
At night, with sullen pleasure, grumbles o’er his prey. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.—­Before Gomez’s Door.

  Enter LORENZO, DOMINICK, and two Soldiers at a distance.

Dom. I’ll not wag an ace farther:  the whole world shall not bribe me to it; for my conscience will digest these gross enormities no longer.

Lor. How, thy conscience not digest them!  There is ne’er a friar in Spain can shew a conscience, that comes near it for digestion.  It digested pimping, when I sent thee with my letter; and it digested perjury, when thou swor’st thou didst not know me:  I am sure it has digested me fifty pounds, of as hard gold as is in all Barbary.  Pr’ythee, why shouldest thou discourage fornication, when thou knowest thou lovest a sweet young girl?

Dom. Away, away; I do not love them;—­pah; no,—­[spits.] I do not love a pretty girl—­you are so waggish!—­ [Spits again.

Lor. Why thy mouth waters at the very mention of them.

Dom. You take a mighty pleasure in defamation, colonel; but I wonder what you find in running restless up and down, breaking your brains, emptying your purse, and wearing out your body, with hunting after unlawful game.

Lor. Why there’s the satisfaction on’t.

Dom. This incontinency may proceed to adultery, and adultery to murder, and murder to hanging; and there’s the satisfaction on’t.

Lor. I’ll not hang alone, friar; I’m resolved to peach thee before thy superiors, for what thou hast done already.

Dom. I’m resolved to forswear it, if you do.  Let me advise you better, colonel, than to accuse a church-man to a church-man; in the common cause we are all of a piece; we hang together.