our,
In us, is only sin.

_Isab._ I thought the Eternal Mind
Had made us masters of these mortal frames;
You told me, he had given us wills to chuse,
And reason to direct us in our choice;
If so, why should he tie us up from dying,
When death's the greater good?

_Tow._ Can death, which is our greatest enemy, be good?
Death is the dissolution of our nature;
And nature therefore does abhor it most,
Whose greatest law is--to preserve our beings.

_Isab._ I grant, it is its great and general law:
But as kings, who are, or should be, above laws,
Dispense with them when levelled at themselves;
Even so may man, without offence to heaven,
Dispense with what concerns himself alone.
Nor is death in itself an ill;
Then holy martyrs sinned, who ran uncalled
To snatch their martyrdom; and blessed virgins,
Whom you celebrate for voluntary death,
To free themselves from that which I have suffered.

_Tow._ They did it, to prevent what might ensue;
Your shame's already past.

_Isab._ It may return,
If I am yet so mean to live a little longer.

_Tow._ You know not; heaven may give you succour yet;
You see it sends me to you.

_Isab._ 'Tis too late,
You should have come before.

_Tow._ You may live to see yourself revenged.
Come, you shall stay for that, then I'll die with you,
You have convinced my reason, nor am I
Ashamed to learn from you.
To heaven's tribunal my appeal I make;
If as a governor he sets me here,
To guard this weak-built citadel of life,
When 'tis no longer to be held, I may
With honour quit the fort. But first I'll both
Revenge myself and you.

_Isab._ Alas! you cannot take revenge; your countrymen
Are few, and those unarmed.

_Tow._ Though not on all the nation, as I would,
Yet I at least can take it on the man.

_Isab._ Leave me to heaven's revenge, for thither I
Will go, and plead, myself, my own just cause.
There's not an injured saint of all my sex,
But kindly will conduct me to my judge,
And help me tell my story.

_Tow._ I'll send the offender first, though to that place
He never can arrive: Ten thousand devils,
Damned for less crimes than he,
And Tarquin in their head, way-lay his soul,
To pull him down in triumph, and to shew him
In pomp among his countrymen; for sure
Hell has its Netherlands, and its lowest country
Must be their lot.

_Enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL.

_Har. Jun._ 'Twas hereabout I left her tied. The rage of love renews
again within me.

_Fisc._ She'