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ANTONIO.

The hand of man, the brand of public shame,

Falls on the guilty head, by Heaven's appointment.
Thou riskest the salvation of thy soul
In aiding my escape; and for my life,
If of thy love bereft, I care not whether
The headsman's axe, or the slow hand of nature,
Shall rid me of it. Nay; the first were best.

MENCIA.

O no! upon my knees I do conjure thee.

(Attempting to kneel, but prevented by him.)
If I offend in this, Heaven will forgive me:
For, oh! if thou art lost, I am most wretched.
My misery or peace hangs on thy life;
Therefore, upon my bended knees, I beg.
(Sinking from his hold to the ground.)
'Tis for myself I plead; fly instantly.

ANTONIO (raising her).

Ah dear, dear Mencia! And car'st thou thus,

For a foul criminal,—a man of blood?
What, then, had been thy care—may I not say—
What, then, had been thy love,—had he been innocent?

MENCIA.

Alas, alas! hadst thou been innocent,

I had defied the world, with all its lures,
Again to sever us. Yet, as thou art——