_Mount._ They are aides indeed, but yet as far from me, As I from being innocent: this cave fashion'd By provident nature, in this solid Rock To be a den for beasts, alone, receives me, And having prov'd an enemy to mankind, All humane helps forsake me. _Roc._ I'll nee'r leave you, And wish you would call back that noble courage That old invincible fortitude of yours That us'd to shrink at nothing. _Mount._ Then it did not. But 'twas when I was honest; then in the height Of all my happiness, of all my glories, Of all delights, that made life pretious to me I durst dye _Rocca_; death it self then to me Was nothing terrible, because I knew, The fame of a good Knight would ever live Fresh on my memory; but since I fell From my integrity, and dismis'd those guards, Those strong assurances of innocence, That constancy fled from me, and what's worse, Now I am loathsome to my self; and life A burthen to me, rack'd with sad remembrance Of what I have done, and my present horrors Unsufferable to me, tortur'd with despair That I shall nee'r find mercy: hell about me, Behind me, and before me, yet I dare not, Still fearing worse, put off my wretched Being. _Ent[e]r_ Abdella. _Roc._ To see this would deter a doubtful man From mischievous intents, much more the practice Of what is wicked: here's the Moore, look up Sir, Some ease may come from her. _Mount._ New trouble rather, And I expect it. _Abd._ Who is this? _Mountferrat?_ Rise up for shame, and like a river dri'd up With a long drought, from me, your bounteous Sea Receive those tides of comfort that flow to you; If ever I look[t] lovely: if desert. Could ever challenge welcome; if revenge, And unexpected wreak, were ever pleasing Or could endear the giver of such blessings, All these I come adorn'd with, and, as due, Make challenge of those so long wish'd embraces Which you (unkind) have hitherto deny'd me. _Mount._ Why, what have you done for me? _Abd._ Made _Gomera_ As truely miserable, as you thought him happy, Could you wish more? _Mount._ As if his sickness could Recover me; the injuries I receiv'd Were _Oriana's_. _Abd._ She has paid dear for 'em, She's dead. _Mount._ How? _Abd._ Dead; my hate could reach no farther: Taking advantage of her in a swoon, Under pretence to give a Cordial to her I poyson'd her: what stupid dulness is this? What you should entertain with sacrifice, Can you receive so coldly?