MARIA. Be sure you stay not long; farewell; I cannot lend an ear to hear you part. [_Exit_ MARIA. ALB. But you did lend a hand unto my entrance. [_He descends._ How have I wrong'd my friend, my faithful friend! Robb'd him of what's more precious than his blood, His earthly heaven, the unspotted honour Of his soul-joying mistress! the fruition of whose bed I yet am warm of; whilst dear Carracus Wanders this cold night through th' unshelt'ring field, Seeking me, treacherous man; yet no man neither, Though in an outward show of such appearance, But am a devil indeed; for so this deed Of wronged love and friendship rightly makes me. I may compare my friend to one that's sick, Who, lying on his deathbed, calls to him His dearest-thought friend, and bids him go To some rare-gifted man, that can restore His former health: this his friend sadly hears, And vows with protestations to fulfil His wish'd desires with his best performance; But then, no sooner seeing that the death Of his sick friend would add to him some gain, Goes not to seek a remedy to save, But, like a wretch, hies[374] him to dig his grave; As I have done for virtuous Carracus. Yet, Albert, be not reasonless, to endanger What thou may'st yet secure; who can detect The crime of thy licentious appetite?-- I hear one's pace! 'tis surely Carracus. _Enter_ CARRACUS. CAR. Not find my friend! sure, some malignant planet Rules o'er this night, and, envying the content Which I in thought possess, debars me thus From what is more than happy, the lov'd presence Of a dear friend and love. ALB. 'Tis wronged Carracus by Albert's baseness: I have no power now to reveal myself. CAR. The horses stand at the appointed place, And night's dark coverture makes firm our safety. My friend is surely fall'n into a slumber On some bank hereabouts; I will call him. Friend Albert, Albert! ALB. Whate'er you are that call, you know my name. CAR. Ay, and thy heart, dear friend. ALB. O Carracus, you are a slow-pac'd lover! Your credit had been touch'd, had I not been. CAR. As how, I prythee, Albert? ALB. Why, I excus'd you to the fair Maria; Who would have thought you else a slack performer. For coming first under her chamber-window, She heard me tread, and call'd upon your name; To which I answer'd with a tongue like yours, And told her I would go to seek for Albert, And straight return. CAR. Whom I have found; thanks to thy faith and heav'n. But had not she a light when you came first? ALB. Yes, but hearing of some company, She at my warning was forc'd to put it out. And had I been so too, you and I too Had still been happy. [_Aside._ CAR. See, we are now come to the chamber-window.