Lug. If you have any feeling, any sense in you,
The least touch of a noble heart—

La Ca. Let him alone:
It is his glory that he can kill beauty.
You bear my stamp, but not my tenderness;
Your wild unsavoury courses set that in you!
For shame, be sorry, though you cannot cure her;
Show something of a man, of a fair nature.

Mir. You make me mad!

De Ga. Let me pronounce this to you;
You take a strange felicity in slighting
And wronging women, which my poor sister feels now;
Heaven’s hand be gentle on her! Mark me, sir,
That very hour she dies (there’s small hope otherwise)
That minute, you and I must grapple for it;
Either your life or mine!

Mir. Be not so hot, sir;
I am not to be wrought on by these policies,
In truth, I am not! nor do I fear the tricks,
Or the high-sounding threats, of a Savoyan.
I glory not in cruelty (ye wrong me)
Nor grow up water’d with the tears of women.
This let me tell ye, howso’er I show to ye,
Wild, as ye please to call it, or self- will’d,
When I see cause I can both do and suffer,
Freely, and feelingly, as a true gentleman.

Enter Rosalura and Lillia.

Ros. Oh, pity, pity! thousand, thousand pities!

Lil. Alas, poor soul! she will die! she is grown senseless;
She will not know, nor speak now.
Die for love?
And love of such a youth? I would die for a dog first!
He that kills me, I’ll give him leave to eat me!
I’ll know men better, ere I sigh for any of ’em.
Ye have done a worthy act, sir, a most famous;
You have kill’d a maid the wrong way; ye’re a conqueror!

Ros. A conqueror? a cobler! Hang him, sowter!
Go hide thyself, for shame! go lose thy memory!
Live not ’mongst men; thou art a beast, a monster,
A blatant beast!

Lil. If you have yet any honesty,
Or ever heard of any, take my counsel;
Off with your garters, and seek out a bough,
A handsome bough; for I would have you hang like a gentleman;
And write some doleful matter to the world,
A warning to hard-hearted men.

Mir. Out, kittlings!
What catterwauling’s here! what gibing!
Do you think my heart is soften’d with a black santis?
Show me some reason.
Oriana is brought in, lying on a bed.

Ros. Here then, here is a reason.

Nant. Now, if ye be a man, let this sight shake ye!

La Ca. Alas, poor gentlewoman! Do you know me, lady?

Lug. How she looks up, and stares!

Ori. I know you very well;
You are my godfather: and that’s the monsieur.

De Ga. And who am I?

Ori. You are Amadis de Gaul, sir.
Oh, oh, my heart! Were ye never in love, sweet lady?
And do you never dream of flowers and gardens?
I dream of walking fires: Take heed! It comes now.
Who’s that? Pray stand away. I have seen that face sure.
How light my head is!

Ros. Take some rest.

Ori. I cannot;
For I must be up to-morrow to go to church,
And I must dress me, put my new gown on,
And be as fine to meet my love! Heigh-ho!
Will not you tell we where my love lies buried?