+Duke.+ You're well resolv'd; perhaps your mind may alter, When you see the axe. In the meantime commit him To the closest prison where, if you have any Accounts with heaven, you will have time to cast Them up before your death.
+Zor.+ Your sentence brings me Joy. Welcome the keenest axe that can be set! 'Twill cut my head and chains both off together. Welcome, most happy stroke, since it will bring Rest to my eyes, and make a slave a king. [_Exit with a Guard._
+Duke.+ Madam, I suppose this journey has so wearied You, that it is time to show you the way To your lodgings, and leave you to your Repose.
+Amph.+ My lord, you had best attend the duke, because 'Tis a respect due to him.
+Ort.+ I shall, madam, At your command. [_Exeunt._
+Amph.+ How has my tongue belied my too true heart, In speaking hate unto The duke, and love to Ortellus! I hate the duke? So eyes do sleep, that long have known no rest. How could my lips give passage to such words, And not have clos'd for ever? Not by my heart's direction, I am sure; for that So swell'd, being injured by my mouth, as, had Not pride and reason kept it here from this Unquiet feat, it would have forc'd away To Archimedes' breast, and there have whisper'd to His heart my tongue's untruth. Why should I love This man, that shows me nothing but contempt And hate? Rouse, drooping heart, and think Of that; think of it always, so by degrees 'Twill bring a winter round thee, that in time Shall chill the heat of thy undone and lost Affections. O, it is not true that all Our sex love change, then I might find one path That leads to it; That womanish vice were virtue now in me, 'Twould free my heart, and that were charity.
See, where he comes again; O, how I love And hate that man! Now help me, pride, and fill My breast with scorn; and pr'ythee, tongue, take heed You do not falter: hear not, my heart, that will Distract thy speech, and so betray my feign'd Unkindness.
+Duke.+ What, Amphelia all alone? Weary of your new love already? can't You pass away the time with him one hour?
+Amph.+ Were he No finer man than yourself, to be with him A minute, I should think a Seven years' penance. Good heart, lie still, and let my tongue alone. [_Aside._ I wonder what a woman can see in you, Or hear from you, to make her love you. (I was just going to have said, hate him.) [_Aside._ O, what a task is this! therefore let me Advise you to have a mean opinion Of yourself.