MARIA. Sure, Carracus, I will be angry with you, If you seem so forgetful. I took it up, Then when you left my lodge, and went away, Glad of your conquest, for to seek your friend, Why stand you so amaz'd, sir? I hope that kindness, Which then you reap'd, doth not prevail So in your thoughts, as that you think me light. CAR. O, think thyself, Maria, what thou art! This is the ring of Albert, treacherous man! He that enjoy'd thy virgin chastity. I never did ascend into thy chamber. But all that cold night, through the frozen field, Went seeking of that wretch, who ne'er sought me; But found what his lust sought for, dearest thee. MARIA. I have heard enough, my Carracus, to bereave Me of this little breath. [_She swoons._ CAR. All breath be first Extinguished. Within there, ho! _Enter_ NURSE _and_ SERVANTS. O nurse! see here, Maria says she'll die. NURSE. Marry, God forbid! O mistress, mistress, mistress! she has breath yet; she's but in a trance: good sir, take comfort, she'll recover by and by. CAR. No, no, she'll die, nurse, for she said she would, an' she had not said so, 't had been another matter; but you know, nurse, she ne'er told a lie: I will believe her, for she speaks all truth. NURSE. His memory begin's to fail him. Come, let's bear This heavy spectacle from forth his presence; The heavens will lend a hand, I hope, of comfort. [_Exeunt._ CARRACUS _manet_. CAR. See, how they steal away my fair Maria! But I will follow after her, as far As Orpheus did to gain his soul's delight; And Pluto's self shall know, although I am not Skilful in music, yet I can be mad, And force my love's enjoyment, in despite Of hell's black fury. But stay, stay, Carracus. Where is thy knowledge and that rational sense, Which heaven's great architect endued thee with? All sunk beneath the weight of lumpish nature? Are our diviner parts no noblier free, Than to be tortur'd by the weak assailments Of earthsprung griefs? Why is man, then, accounted The head commander of this universe, Next the Creator, when a little storm Of nature's fury straight o'erwhelms his judgment? But mine's no little storm, it is a tempest So full of raging, self-consuming woe, That nought but ruin follows expectation. O my Maria, what unheard-of sin Have any of thine ancestors enacted, That all their shame should be pour'd thus on thee? Or what incestuous spirit, cruel Albert, Left hell's vast womb for to enter thee, And do a mischief of such treachery? _Enter_ NURSE, _weeping_. O nurse, how is it with Maria? If e'er thy tongue did utter pleasing words, Let it now do so, or hereafter e'er Be dumb in sorrow. NURSE. Good sir, take comfort; I am forced to speak What will not please: your chaste wife, sir, is dead.