has check'd my Joy--
And makes it strangely silent and imperfect. [Walks away.

_Franc._ Why do you go, before you answer me?
[Follows him into the Garden.

_Mar._ I'll follow him, and kill them.
[Comes out with a Dagger.
Oh, who would be allied unto a Woman,
Nature's loose Handy-Work? the slight Imploys
Of all her wanton Hours?-- Oh, I could rave now--
Abandon Sense and Nature.
Hence, all considerate Thoughts, and in their Room,
Supply my Soul with Vengeance, that may prove
Too great to be allay'd by Nature, or by Love.
[Goes into the Garden after them.

Enter again _Silvio_ melancholy, followed by _Francisca_.

_Franc._ But will you lose this Opportunity,
Her Lodgings too being so near your own?

_Silv._ Hell take her for her Wickedness.
Oh that ten thousand Mountains stood between us,
And Seas as vast and raging as her Lust,
That we might never meet-- Oh perfect Woman!
I find there is no Safety in thy Sex;
No trusting to thy Innocence:
That being counterfeit, thy Beauty's gone,
Dropt like a Rose o'er-blown;
And left thee nothing but a wither'd Root,
That never more can bloom.

_Franc._ Alas, I fear I have done ill in this. [Aside.

_Silv._ I now should hate her: but there yet remains
Something within, so strangely kind to her,
That I'm resolv'd to give her one proof more,
Of what I have vow'd her often; yes, I'll kill her--

_Franc._ How, kill her, Sir? Gods, what have I done! [Aside.

_Silv._ Yes, can I let her live, and say I lov'd her?
No, she shall tempt no more vain yielding Men.

_Franc._ Consider, Sir, it is to save your Life she does it.

_Silv._ My Life!
'Twere better she and I were buried
Quick in one Grave, than she should fall to this,
She has out-sinn'd even me in this Consent.

Enter _Marcel_ from amongst the Trees softly with his Dagger behind
_Silvio_.

_Mar._ Oh, here they are--

_Franc._ My Lord, defend your self, your are undone else.

_Silv._ Hah, _Marcel_! [Draws.

_Franc._ Help, help.

_Mar._ Hell take thy Throat.

Enter _Ambrosio_, _Clarinda_, _Cleonte_, and the rest of the House.

_Amb._ Hold, Villain, hold.
How dar'st thou thus rebel-- ungrateful Wretch?

_Mar._ This cause, Sir, is so just, that when you hear it,
You'll curse me, that I let him live thus long:
He loves my Sister, Sir; and that leud Woman
Repays his lustful Flame, and does this Evening
Invit