_Rob._ Bear record, all you blessèd saints in heaven, I come not to torment thee in thy death; For of himself he's terrible enough. But call to mind a lady like yourself; And think how ill in such a beauteous soul, Upon the instant morrow of her nuptials, Apostasy and vild revolt would show: Withal imagine that she had a lord, Jealous the air should ravish her chaste looks:[311] 170 Doting like the creator in his models, Who views them every minute, and with care Mix'd in his fear of their obedience to him. Suppose he[r] sung through famous Italy, More common than the looser songs of Petrarch, To every several zany's instrument; And he, poor wretch, hoping some better fate Might call her back from her adulterate purpose, Lives in obscure and almost unknown life, Till hearing that she is condemn'd to die-- 180 For he once loved her--lends his pinèd corpse Motion to bring him to her stage of honour, Where drown'd in woe at her so dismal chance, He clasps her: thus he falls into a trance. _Isa._ O, my offended lord, lift up your eyes: But yet avert them from my loathèd sight. Had I with you enjoyed the lawful pleasure, To which belongs nor fear nor public shame, I might have lived in honour, died in fame! Your pardon on my falt'ring knees I beg, 190 Which shall confirm more peace unto my death Than all the grave instructions of the Church. _Rob._ Pardon belongs unto my holy weeds, Freely thou hast it. Farewell, my Isabella! let thy death Ransom thy soul. O die a rare example! The kiss thou gavest me in the church, here take; As I leave thee, so thou the world forsake! [_Exit_ ROBERTO. _Car._[312] Rare accident, ill welcome, noble lord. Madam, your executioner desires you to forgive him. 200 _Isa._ Yes, and give him too. What must I do, my friend? _Exec._ Madam, only tie up your hair. _Isa._ O, these golden nets, That have ensnared so many wanton youths, Not one but has been held a thread of life, And superstitiously depended on. Now to the block we must vail! What else? _Exec._ Madam, I must entreat you, blind your eyes. _Isa._ I have lived too long in darkness, my friend; And yet mine eyes, with their majestic light, Have got new muses in a poet's sprite. 210 They have been more gazed at than the god of day: Their brightness never could be flatterèd, Yet thou command'st a fixèd cloud of lawn To eclipse eternally these minutes of light. What else? _Exec._ Now, madam, all's done, And when you please, I'll execute my office.