SCENE II.

_Sienna. A Room in the Prison._

BERTOLDO _is discovered in fetters, reading_.

_Bert._ 'Tis here determined, (great examples, arm'd With arguments, produced to make it good,) That neither tyrants, nor the wrested laws, The people's frantic rage, sad exile, want, Nor that which I endure, captivity, Can do a wise man any injury. Thus Seneca, when he wrote it, thought.--But then Felicity courted him; his wealth exceeding A private man's; happy in the embraces Of his chaste wife Paulina; his house full Of children, clients, servants, flattering friends, Soothing his lip-positions; and created Prince of the senate, by the general voice, At his new pupil's suffrage: then, no doubt, He held, and did believe, this. But no sooner The prince's frowns and jealousies had thrown him Out of security's lap, and a centurion Had offer'd him what choice of death he pleased, But told him, die he must; when straight the armour Of his so boasted fortitude fell off, [_Throws away the book._ Complaining of his frailty. Can it then Be censured womanish weakness in me, if, Thus clogg'd with irons, and the period To close up all calamities denied me, Which was presented Seneca, I wish I ne'er had being; at least, never knew What happiness was; or argue with heaven's justice, Tearing my locks, and, in defiance, throwing Dust in the air? or, falling on the ground, thus With my nails and teeth to dig a grave, or rend The bowels of the earth, my step-mother, And not a natural parent? or thus practise To die, and, as I were insensible, Believe I had no motion? [_Falls on his face._

_Enter_ GONZAGA, ADORNI, _and Gaoler_.

_Gonz._ There he is: I'll not inquire by whom his ransom's paid, I am satisfied that I have it; nor allege One reason to excuse his cruel usage, As you may interpret it: let it suffice It was my will to have it so. He is yours now, Dispose of him as you please. [_Exit._

_Ador._ Howe'er I hate him, As one preferr'd before me, being a man, He does deserve my pity. Sir!--he sleeps:-- Or he is dead?--[_kneels by him._]--No, he breathes! Come near, And, if 't be possible, without his feeling, Take off his irons.--[_His irons taken off._]--So; now leave us private. [_Exit Gaoler._ He does begin to stir; and, as transported With a joyful dream, how he stares! and feels his legs, As yet uncertain whether it can be True or fantastical.

_Bert._ [_rising._] Ministers of mercy, Mock not calamity. Ha! 'tis no vision! Or, if it be, the happiest that ever Appear'd to sinful flesh! Who's here? his face Speaks him Adorni;--but some glorious angel, Concealing its divinity in his shape, Hath done this miracle, it being not an act For wolfish man. Resolve me, if thou look'st for Bent knees in adoration?

_Ador._ O forbear, sir! I am Adorni, and the instrument Of your deliverance; but the benefit You owe another.

_Bert._ If he has a name, As soon as spoken, 'tis writ on my heart I am his bondman.

_Ador._ To the shame of men, This great act is a woman's.

_Bert._ The whole sex For her sake must be deified. How I wander In my imagination, yet cannot Guess who this phoenix should be!

_Ador._ 'Tis Camiola.

_Bert._ Pray you, speak 't again; there's music in her name. Once more, I pray you, sir.

_Ador._ Camiola, The MAID OF HONOUR.

_Bert._ Cursed atheist that I was, Only to doubt it could be any other; Since she alone, in the abstract of herself, That small, but ravishing substance, comprehends Whatever is, or can be wish'd, in the Idea of a woman! O what service, Or sacrifice of duty, can I pay her, If not to live and die her charity's slave, Which is resolved already!

_Ador._ She expects not Such a dominion o'er you. You must now, Which is the sum of all that she desires, By a solemn contract bind yourself, when she Requires it, as a debt due for your freedom, To marry her.

_Bert._ This does engage me further; A payment! an increase of obligation. To marry her!--'twas my _nil ultra_ ever: The end of my ambition. O that now The holy man, she present, were prepared To join our hands, but with that speed my heart Wishes mine eyes might see her!

_Ador._ You must swear this.

_Bert._ False to Camiola! never.--Shall I now Begin my vows to you?

_Ador._ I am no churchman; Such a one must file it on record: you are free; And, that you may appear like to yourself, (For so she wish'd,) here's gold, with which you may Redeem your trunks and servants, and whatever Of late you lost. I have found out the captain Whose spoil they were; his name is Roderigo.

_Bert._ I know him.

_Ador._ I have done my parts.

_Bert._ So much, sir, As I am ever yours for 't. Now, methinks, I walk in air! Divine Camiola---- But words cannot express thee: I'll build to thee An altar in my soul, on which I'll offer A still-increasing sacrifice of duty. [_Exit._

_Ador._ What will become of me now is apparent. This Roman resolution of self-murder Will not hold water at the high tribunal, When it comes to be argued; my good Genius Prompts me to this consideration. He That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it, And, at the best, shows but a bastard valour. This life's a fort committed to my trust, Which I must not yield up till it be forced: Nor will I. He's not valiant that dares die, But he that boldly bears calamity. [_Exit._