I've done a deed—But I am human still.
Jane. I know thy suff'rings: leave thy sorrow free:
Thou art with one who never did upbraid;
Who mourns, who loves thee still.
De Mon. Ah! say'st thou so? no, no; it should not be.
(Shrinking from her.) I am a foul and bloody murderer,
For such embrace unmeet. O leave me! leave me!
Disgrace and publick shame abide me now;
And all, alas! who do my kindred own
The direful portion share.—Away, away!
Shall a disgrac'd and publick criminal
Degrade thy name, and claim affinity
To noble worth like thine?—I have no name—
I am nothing, now, not e'en to thee; depart.
(She takes his hand, and grasping it firmly, speaks with a determined voice.)
Jane. De Monfort, hand in hand we have enjoy'd
The playful term of infancy together;
And in the rougher path of ripen'd years
We've been each other's stay. Dark lowers our fate,
And terrible the storm that gathers over us;
But nothing, till that latest agony
Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose
This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house;
In the terrifick face of armed law;
Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be,
I never will forsake thee.
