_In._ Now hush thy fear. See how thou tremblest still. Or if thou fear, fear passion; for the freshes Of tenderness and motherly love will drown The eye of judgment: yet, since even excess Of the soft quality fits woman well, I praise thee; nor would ask thee less to aid With counsel, than in love to share my choice. Tho’ weak thy hands to poise, thine eye may mark This balance, how the good of all outweighs 980 The good of one or two, though these be us. Let not reluctance shame the sacrifice Which in another thou wert first to praise.
_Ar._ Alas for me, for thee and for our children, Who, being our being, having all our having, If they fare ill, our pride lies in the dust.
_In._ O deem not a man’s children are but those Out of his loins engendered--our spirit’s love Hath such prolific consequence, that Virtue Cometh of ancestry more pure than blood, 990 And counts her seed as sand upon the shore. Happy is he whose body’s sons proclaim Their father’s honour, but more blest to whom The world is dutiful, whose children spring Out of all nations, and whose pride the proud Rise to regenerate when they call him sire.
_Ar._ Thus, husband, ever have I bought and buy Nobleness cheaply being linked with thee. Forgive my weakness; see, I now am bold; Tell me the worst, I’ll hear and wish ’twere more.
_In._ Retire--thy tears perchance may stir again.
_Ar._ Nay, I am full of wonder and would hear.
_Pr._ Bid me not tell if ye have fear to hear; But have no fear. Knowledge of future things 1004 Can nothing change man’s spirit: and though he seem To aim his passion darkly, like a shaft Shot toward some fearful sound in thickest night, He hath an owl’s eye, and must blink at day. The springs of memory, that feed alike His thought and action, draw from furthest time Their constant source, and hardly brook constraint Of actual circumstance, far less attend On glassed futurity; nay, death itself, His fate unquestioned, his foretasted pain, The certainty foreknown of things unknown, Cannot discourage his habitual being 1016 In its appointed motions, to make waver His eager hand, nor loosen the desire Of the most feeble melancholy heart Even from the unhopefullest of all her dreams.
_In._ Since then I long to know, now something say Of what will come to mine when I am gone.