_Timand._ So! it works. Though hitherto I have run a desperate course To serve my brother's purposes, now 'tis fit _Enter_ LEOSTHENES _and_ TIMAGORAS. I study mine own ends. They come:--assist me In these my undertakings, Love's great patron, As my intents are honest! _Leost._ 'Tis my fault[127]: Distrust of other springs, Timagoras, From diffidence in ourselves: but I will strive, With the assurance of my worth and merits, To kill this monster, jealousy. _Timag._ 'Tis a guest, In wisdom, never to be entertain'd On trivial probabilities; but, when He does appear in pregnant proofs, not fashion'd By idle doubts and fears to be received: They make their own wrongs that are too secure, As well as such as give them growth and being From mere imagination. Though I prize Cleora's honour equal with mine own, And know what large additions of power This match brings to our family, I prefer Our friendship, and your peace of mind, so far Above my own respects, or hers, that if She hold not her true value in the test, 'Tis far from my ambition, for her cure, That you should wound yourself. _Timand._ This argues for me. [_Aside._ _Timag._ Why she should be so passionate for a bondman, Falls not in compass of my understanding, But for some nearer interest; or he raise This mutiny, if he loved her, as, you say, She does confess he did, but to possess The prize he ventured for, to me's a riddle. _Leost._ I have answer'd that objection, in my strong Assurance of her virtue. _Timag._ 'Tis unfit, then, That I should press it further. _Timand._ Now I must Make in, or all is lost. [_Rushes forward distractedly._ _Timag._ What would Timandra? _Leost._ How wild she looks! How is it with thy lady? _Timag._ Collect thyself, and speak. _Timand._ As you are noble, Have pity, or love piety.--Oh! _Leost._ Take breath. _Timag._ Out with it boldly. _Timand._ O, the best of ladies, I fear, is gone for ever. _Leost._ Who, Cleora? _Timag._ Deliver, how? 'Sdeath, be a man, sir!--Speak. _Timand._ Take it then in as many sighs as words, My lady---- _Timag._ What of her? _Timand._ No sooner heard Marullo was imprison'd, but she fell Into a deadly swoon. _Timag._ But she recover'd: Say so, or he will sink too. Hold, sir; fie! This is unmanly. _Timand._ Brought again to life, But with much labour, she awhile stood silent, Yet in that interim vented sighs, as if They labour'd, from the prison of her flesh, To give her grieved soul freedom. On the sudden, Transported on the wings of rage and sorrow, She flew out of the house, and, unattended, Enter'd the common prison. _Leost._ This confirms What but before I fear'd. _Timand._ There you may find her; And, if you love her as a sister---- _Timag._ Damn her! _Timand._ Or you respect her safety as a lover, Procure Marullo's liberty.