rne my love,
Next to admitt a scruple of beleife,
Though you can be perfidious to your selfe,
That I can be soe. Noe; since you are lost,
Ile like the solitary turtle mourne
Cause I must live without you. But, pray, tell me
What is she you would have me love?

_Cla_. My Mother.

_Thu_. Ha, your Mother!

_Tho_. Ist possible, lady? you much doe wrong
Your innocence in laboring to enforce
That upon him which is my interest. Heaven
Smild at the contract twixt us; quiers of Saints
Receivd our mutuall vowes, and though your Mother
May in her passion seeme to have forgott
Her pretious faith, yet when I shall awake
Her sleeping reason with the memory
Of that has past betwixt us, my strong hope
Tells me I shall induce her to the spheare
Which she has movd from.

_Cla_. Would heaven you could! How coldly in this cause
Doe I perswade! when I would speake, my heart
Checks its bold orator, my tongue, and tells it
Tis traitorous to its Mr.--Noble Sir, [_kneele_
I doe conceit you infinitly good,
So pittiful that mercy is in you
Even naturally superlative, (forgive me,
If I offend) you doe in this transgresse
Humanity, to let a lady love you
Without requitall. But I must professe
To heaven and you, that here Ile fix to earth,
Weepe till I am a statue, but Ile gaine
Your pitie for her: pray consider ont.

_Thu_. Consider ont? wonder has soe engrossd
To its wild use all corners of my heart
That there remaines scarce one poore concave left
To hold consideration. I must either
Love her I hate or see her whome I love
Wilfully perish. See, shee kneeles and weeps,
Prays as she meant to expiate all the sinns
Earth ere committed. One of those pure drops
Does (as my lives blood in a soddaine trance)
Surround my heart. You have prevaild, arise:
At your request I will performe an act,
Which may no story hold least all who love
Hereafter curse the president,--Ile love her.
That deathfull word comes from my torturd soule
As a consent doth from a timorous maid
For an enforcing ravisher.

_Tho_. You are not mad, sir? what doe you meane?

_Cla_. I thanke you.
But love her dearely, _Thurston_, sheele deserv't:
I doe remember, when my Father livd,
How he would praise her goodnes. Think on me
As one that lovd you well, but neer like her;
And, if you please, bestow each day a kisse
Uppon her in my memory. Soe, farewell.--
Sorrows flow high: one griefe succeed another;
I die in piety to redeeme my Mother. [_Exit_.

_Tho_.