_Gons_. Wretched that I am, What have I done? To what strange punishment Will you condemn this guilty hand? And yet My eyes were guilty first--For they could look On nothing else but you; and my unlucky hand Too closely followed them!-- _Enter MANUEL again_. _Man_. The powers above are just, that thou still livest, For me to kill. _Rod_. You'll find no easy task on't Alone; come both together, I defy you! Curse on this disguise, that has betrayed me Thus cheaply to my death.-- _Man_. Under a devil's shape, thou could'st not be Disguised. _Jul_. Then, must he die?-- Yet, I'll not bid my Roderick farewell; For they take leave, who mean to be long absent. _Gons_. Hold, sir! I have had blood enough already; And must not murder Julia again In him she loves. Live, sir; and thank this lady. _Rod_. Take my life, and spare my thanks. _Man_. Though you Forgive him, let me take my just revenge. _Gons_. Leave that distinction to our dull divines: That ill, I suffer to be done, I do. _Hip_. My heart bleeds for him: to see his virtue O'ercome so fatally, against such odds Of fortune, and of love!-- _Man_. Permit his death, and Julia will be yours. _Jul_. Permit it not, and Julia will thank you. _Gons_. Who e'er could think, that one kind word from Julia Should be preferred to Julia herself? Could any man think it a greater good To save a rival, than possess a mistress? Yet this I do! these are thy riddles, love!-- What fortune gives me, I myself destroy; And feed my virtue, but to starve my joy. Honour sits on me like some heavy armour, And with its stiff defence, encumbers me; And yet, when I would put it off, it sticks Like Hercules's shirt; heats me at once; And poisons me! _Man_. I find myself grow calm by thy example; My panting heart heaves less and less, each pulse; And all the boiling spirits scatter from it. Since thou desirest he should not die, he shall not, 'Till I on nobler terms can take his life. _Rod_. The next turn may be yours.--Remember, I owed this danger to your wilfulness: Once, you might easily have been mine, and would not. [_Exit_ RODORICK. _Man_. Lead out my sister, friend; her hurt's so small, 'Twill scarce disturb the ceremony. Ladies, once more your pardons. [_Leads out the Company. Exeunt_. _Manent_ JULIA, GONSALVO, AMIDEO, _and_ HIPPOLITO. GONSALVO _offers his hand,_ JULIA _pulls back hers_. _Jul_. This hand would rise in blisters, should'st thou touch it!-- My Roderick's displeased with me, and thou, Unlucky man, the cause. Dare not so much As once to follow me. [_Exit_ JULIA. _Gons_. Not follow her! Alas, she need not bid me! Oh, how could I presume to take that hand, To which mine proved so fatal! Nay, if I might, should I not fear to touch it?-- murderer's touch would make it bleed afresh! _Amid_. I think, sir, I could kill her for your sake.