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SULPICIUS.

With impious rites, most strange and horrible.

ORCERES.

If he, my friend, in impious rites hath join'd,

Demons, indeed, have o'er the soul of man
A power to change its nature. Ay, Sulpicius;
And thou and I may, ere a day shall pass,
Be very Nazarenes. We are in ignorance;
We shoot our arrow in the dark, and cry,
"It is to wound a foe." Come, gentle Portia;
Be not so sad; the man thou lovest is virtuous,
And brave, and loves thee well; why then despair?

PORTIA.

Alas! I know he is brave and virtuous,

Therefore, I do despair.

ORCERES.

In Nero's court, indeed,

Such men are ever on the brink of danger,
But would'st thou have him other than he is?

PORTIA.

O, no! I would not; that were base and sordid;

Yet shed I tears, even like a wayward child
Who weeps for that which cannot be attain'd,—
Virtue, and constancy, and safety join'd.
I pray thee pardon me, for I am wretched,
And that doth make me foolish and perverse.
[Exeunt.