_Soph._ Weep not bright _Dorigen_; for thou hast stood Constant and chaste (it seems 'gainst gods and men) When rocks and mountains were remov'd. These wonders Do stupifie my senses. _Martius_, This is inhumane: was thy sickness lust? Yet were this truth, why weeps she? Jealous soul, What dost thou thus suggest? Vows, Magick, Rocks? Fine tales, and tears. She ne'er complain'd before. I bade her visit him; she often did, Had many opportunities. Humh, 'tis naught: O! No way but this. Come, weep no more, I have ponder'd This miracle: the anger of the gods, Thy vow, my love to thee, and _Martius_: He must not perish, nor thou be forsworn, Lest worse fates follow us; Go, keep thy oath: For chaste, and whore, are words of equal length: But let not _Martius_ know that I consent, O! I'm pull'd in pieces. _Dor._ I? say you so? I'll meet you in your path. O wretched men! With all your valour and your learning, bubbles. Forgive me, _Sophocles_. Yet why kneel I For pardon, having been but over-diligent, Like an obedient servant, antedating My Lords command? Sir, I have often, and already given This bosom up to his embraces, and Am proud that my dear Lord is pleas'd with it; Whose gentle honorable minde I see Participates even all, his wife and all, Unto his friend. You are sad, Sir. _Martius_ loves me, And I love _Martius_ with such ardencie, As never married couple could: I must Attend him now. My Lord, when you have need To use your own wife, pray Sir send for me; Till then, make use of your Philosophie. [_Exit._ _Soph._ Stay, _Dorigen_: O me, inquisitive fool! Thou that didst order this congested heap When it was Chaos, 'twixt thy spacious palms Forming it to this vast rotundie; Dissolve it now; shuffle the elements, That no one proper by it self may stand: Let the sea quench the sun, and in that instant The sun drink up the sea: day, ne'er come down, To light me to those deeds that must be done. [_Exit._ _Drums and Colours._ _Enter Martius, Valerius, Captains and soldiers, at one_ _door, and Dorigen with Lad[i]es, at another._ _Dor._ Hail, General of _Rome_; from _Sophocles_ That honors _Martius_, _Dorigen_ presents Her self to be dishonour'd: do thy will; For _Sophocles_ commands me to obey. Come, violate all rules of holiness, And rend the consecrated knot of love. _Mar._ Never, _Valerius_, was I blest till now: Behold the end of all my weary steps, The prize of all my Battels: leave us all; Leave us as quick as thought. Thus joy begin, In zealous love a minutes loss is sin. _Val._ Can _Martius_ be so vile? or _Dorigen_?