_Or._ Hope! nothing. I would not aught receive, aught hope, but death. Think'st thou I need reproach? think'st thou I need To be reminded that my love's a crime? That every moral tie forbids my passion? But though I know that heav'n has plagues in store, Yet mark--I do not, will not, can't repent; I do not even wish to love thee less; I glory in my crime: pernicious beauty! Come, triumph in thy power, complete my woes; Insult me with the praises of my rival, The man on earth--whom most I ought to love! _Jul._ I leave thee to remorse, and to that penitence Thy crime demands. [_Going._ _Or._ A moment stay. _Jul._ I dare not. _Or._ Hear all my rival's worth, and all my guilt. The unsuspecting Rivers sent me to thee, To plead his cause; I basely broke my trust, And, like a villain, pleaded for myself. _Jul._ Did he? Did Rivers? Then he loves me still-- Quick let me seek him out. _Or._ (_takes out the dagger._) First take this dagger; Had you not forc'd it from my hand to-day, I had not liv'd to know this guilty moment: Take it, present it to the happy Rivers, Tell him to plunge it in a traitor's heart, Tell him his friend, Orlando, is that traitor, Tell him Orlando forg'd the guilty tale, Tell him Orlando was the only foe Who at the altar would have murder'd Rivers, And then have died himself. _Jul._ Farewell--repent--think better. [_Exit_ JULIA. [_As she goes out, he still looks after her._ _Enter_ RIVERS. _Riv._ Turn, villain, turn! _Or._ Ha! Rivers here? _Riv._ Yes, Rivers. _Or._ Gape wide, thou friendly earth, for ever hide me! Rise, Alps, ye crashing mountains, bury me! _Riv._ Nay, turn, look on me. _Or._ Rivers! oh, I cannot, I dare not, I have wrong'd thee. _Riv._ Doubly wrong'd me; Thy complicated crimes cry out for vengeance. _Or._ Take it. _Riv._ But I would take it as a man. Draw. [RIVERS _draws_. _Or._ Not for a thousand worlds. _Riv._ Not fight? Why, thou'rt a coward, too, as well as villain: I shall despise as well as hate thee. _Or._ Do; Yet wrong me not, for if I am a coward 'Tis but to thee: there does not breathe the man, Thyself excepted, who durst call me so And live; but, oh! 'tis sure to heaven and thee, I am the veriest coward guilt e'er made. Now, as thou art a man, revenge thyself: Strike! _Riv._ No, not stab thee like a base assassin, But meet thee as a foe. _Or._ Think of my wrongs. _Riv._ I feel them here. _Or._ Think of my treachery. _Riv._ Oh, wherefore wast thou false? how have I lov'd thee! _Or._ Of that no more: think of thy father's grief, Of Emmelina's wrongs----