_Ch._ Come, come—we follow—we obey thee gladly— We long to learn, goddess, what thou canst teach. [_Exeunt Th. and Chor._ _Deid._ Rejoice, she bids me. Ah me, tho’ all heaven spake, I should weep bitterly. My tears, my shame Will never leave me. Never now, nevermore 1490 Can I find credit of grace, nor as a rock Stand ’twixt my maids and evil; even not deserving My father’s smile. Why honour we the gods, Who reck not of our honour? How hath she, Self-styled a goddess, mocked me, not respecting Maidenly modesty; but in the path Of grace, wherein I thought to walk enstated High as my rank without reproach, she hath set A snare for every step; that day by day, From morn to night, I might do nothing well; 1500 But by most innocent seeming be betrayed To what most wounds a shamefast life, yielding To a man’s unfeignèd feigning; nay nor stayed Until I had given,—alas, how oft!— My cheek to his lips, my body to his arms; And thinking him a maid as I myself, Have loved, kissed, and embraced him as a maid. O wretched, not to have seen what was so plain! Here on this bank no later than this morn Was I beguiled. There is no cure, no cure. 1510 I’ll close my eyes for ever, nor see again The things I have seen, nor be what I have been. [_Covers her face weeping._ _Enter Achilles._ _Ach._ The voices that were here have ceased. Ah, there! Not gone. ’Tis she, and by my cast-off robe Sitting alone. I must speak comfort to her, Whoe’er I seem. O Deidamia, see! Pyrrha is found. Weep not for her. I tell thee Thy Pyrrha is safe. Despair not. Nay, look up. Dost thou not know my voice? ’Tis I myself. 1519 Look up, I am Pyrrha.—Ah, now what prayer or plea Made on my knees can aid me—If thou knowst all And wilt not look on me? Yet if thou hearest Thou wilt forgive. Nay, if thou lovedst me not, Or if I had wronged thee, thou wouldst scorn me now. Thou dost not look. I am not changed. I loved thee As like a maiden as I knew: if more Was that a fault? Now as I am Achilles Revealed to-day to lead the Greeks to Troy, I count that nothing and bow down to thee Who hast made me fear,— 1530 Let me unveil thy eyes: tho’ thou wouldst hide me, Hide not thyself from me. If gentle force Should show me that ’tis love that thou wouldst hide ... And love I see. Look on me. _Deid._ (_embracing_). Ah Pyrrha, Pyrrha! _Ach._ Thou dost forgive. _Deid._ I never dreamed the truth. _Ach._ And wilt not now look on me! _Deid._ I dare not look. _Ach._ What dost thou fear? A monster! I am not changed Save but my dress, and that an Amazon Might wear.