ZORADA (drawing herself up proudly).
ROMIERO.
Which ne'er before so stain'd thy lovely face,
Speak not of pardon. (She turns away, and he fallows her.) I have much offended.
But he who like offence hath ne'er committed:
Who ne'er hath look'd on man's admiring eye
Fix'd on the treasure of his heart, till fear,
Suspicion, hatred hath bereft his soul
Of every generous feeling; he who never
Hath, in that state of torture, watch'd her face
Till ev'n the traits of saintly innocence
Have worn the shade of conscious guilt; who never
Hath, in his agony, for her dear sake
Cursed all the sex;—may, as the world conceives.
Be a most wise, affectionate, good husband;
But, by all ecstacy of soul, by all
That lifts it to an angel's pitch, or sinks it
Ev'n to perdition, he has loved but slightly—
Loved with a love, compared to what I feel,
As cottage hearth where smould'ring embers lie,
To the surcharged unquenchable volcano.
ZORADA.
Repeats so boldly? Good my Lord, discard it,
