Dioc. Basely you killed him.

Adr. [Aside.]
O, I burn inward:  my blood’s all on fire! 
Alcides, when the poisoned shirt sate closest,
Had but an ague-fit to this my fever. 
Yet, for Eurydice, even this I’ll suffer,
To free my love.—­Well then, I killed him basely.

Cre. Fairly, I’m sure, you could not.

Dioc. Nor alone.

Cre. You had your fellow thieves about you, prince; They conquered, and you killed.

Adr. [Aside.] Down, swelling heart!  ’Tis for thy princess all:—­O my Eurydice!—­ [To her.

Eur. [To him.]
Reproach not thus the weakness of my sex,
As if I could not bear a shameful death,
Rather than see you burdened with a crime
Of which I know you free.

Cre. You do ill, madam, To let your head-long love triumph o’er nature:  Dare you defend your father’s murderer?

Eur. You know he killed him not.

Cre. Let him say so.

Dioc. See, he stands mute.

Cre. O power of conscience, even in wicked men! 
It works, it stings, it will not let him utter
One syllable, one,—­no, to clear himself
From the most base, detested, horrid act
That ere could stain a villain,—­not a prince.

Adr. Ha! villain!

Dioc. Echo to him, groves:  cry villain.

Adr. Let me consider—­did I murder Laius, Thus, like a villain?

Cre. Best revoke your words, And say you killed him not.

Adr. Not like a villain; pr’ythee, change me that For any other lye.

Dioc. No, villain, villain.

Cre. You killed him not! proclaim your innocence, Accuse the princess:  So I knew ’twould be.

Adr. I thank thee, thou instructest me:  No matter how I killed him.

Cre. [Aside.] Cooled again!

Eur. Thou, who usurp’st the sacred name of conscience,
Did not thy own declare him innocent? 
To me declare him so?  The king shall know it.

Cre. You will not be believed, for I’ll forswear it.

Eur. What’s now thy conscience?

Cre. ’Tis my slave, my drudge, my supple glove,
My upper garment, to put on, throw off,
As I think best:  ’Tis my obedient conscience.

Adr. Infamous wretch!

Cre. My conscience shall not do me the ill office
To save a rival’s life; when thou art dead,
(As dead thou shalt be, or be yet more base
Than thou think’st me,
By forfeiting her life, to save thy own,—­)
Know this,—­and let it grate thy very soul,—­
She shall be mine:  (she is, if vows were binding;)
Mark me, the fruit of all thy faith and passion,
Even of thy foolish death, shall all be mine.