Conscience, thou horror unto wicked men, When wilt thou cease thy all-afflicting wrath,[381] And set my soul free from the labyrinth Of thy tormenting terror? O, but it fits not! Should I desire redress, or wish for comfort, That have committed an act so inhumane, Able to fill shame's spacious chronicle? Who but a damn'd one could have done like me? Robb'd my dear friend, in a short moment's time, Of his love's high-priz'd gem of chastity: That which so many years himself hath stay'd for? How often hath he, as he lay in bed, Sweetly discours'd to me of his Maria? And with what pleasing passions did he suffer Love's gentle war-siege? Then he would relate, How he first came unto her fair eyes' view; How long it was ere she could brook affection; And then how constant she did still abide. I then, at this, would joy, as if my breast Had sympathis'd in equal happiness With my true friend: but now, when joy should be, Who but a damn'd one would have done like me? He hath been married now, at least, a month; In all which time I have not once beheld him. This is his house-- I'll call to know his health, but will not see him, My looks would then betray me; for, should he ask My cause of seeming sadness or the like, I could not but reveal, and so pour'd on Worse unto ill, which breeds confusion. [_He knocks._ _Enter_ SERVINGMAN. SER. To what intent d'ye knock, sir? ALB. Because I would be heard, sir: is the master of this house within? SER. Yes, marry is he, sir: would you speak with him? ALB. My business is not so troublesome: Is he in health, with his late espoused wife? SER. Both are exceeding well, sir. ALB. I'm truly glad on't: farewell, good friend. SER. I pray you, let's crave your name, sir; I may else have anger. ALB. You may say one Albert, riding by this way, only inquired their health. SER. I will acquaint so much. [_Exit_ SERVINGMAN.