_Leost._ You were never proved[109]. For me, I have conversed with you no further Than would become a brother. I ne'er tuned Loose notes to your chaste ears; or brought rich presents For my artillery, to batter down The fortress of your honour; I never practised The cunning and corrupting arts they study, That wander in the wild maze of desire; Honest simplicity and truth were all The agents I employ'd; and when I came To see you, it was with that reverence As I beheld the altars of the gods: And Love, that came along with me, was taught To leave his arrows and his torch behind, Quench'd in my fear to give offence. _Cleo._ And 'twas That modesty that took me, and preserves me, Like a fresh rose, in mine own natural sweetness; Which, sullied with the touch of impure hands, Loses both scent and beauty. _Leost._ But, Cleora, When I am absent, as I must go from you, (Such is the cruelty of my fate,) and leave you, Unguarded, to the violent assaults Of loose temptations; when the memory Of my so many years of love and service Is lost in other objects; when you are courted By such as keep a catalogue of their conquests, Won upon credulous virgins; when nor father Is here to owe[110] you, brother to advise you, Nor your poor servant by, to keep such off, By love instructed how to undermine, And blow your constancy up; when your weak senses, At once assaulted, shall conspire against you, And play the traitors to your soul, your virtue; How can you stand? 'Faith, though you fall, and I The judge, before whom you then stood accused, I should acquit you. _Cleo._ Will you then confirm That love and jealousy, though of different natures, Must of necessity be twins; the younger Created only to defeat the elder, And spoil him of his birthright[111]? 'tis not well. But being to part, I will not chide, I will not; Nor with one syllable or tear, express How deeply I am wounded with the arrows Of your distrust: but when that you shall hear, At your return, how I have borne myself, And what an austere penance I take on me, To satisfy your doubts; when, like a vestal, I show you, to your shame, the fire still burning, Committed to my charge by true affection, The people joining with you in the wonder; When, by the glorious splendour of my sufferings, The prying eyes of jealousy are struck blind, The monster too that feeds on fears e'en starved For want of seeming matter to accuse me; Expect, Leosthenes, a sharp reproof From my just anger. _Leost._ What will you do?