Join at the holy altar kindred souls,
Though my torn heart should split in the attempt.
Angelo.
Young Julian will refuse the gift: his love,
At least, has cooled; and dull satiety
Usurps the place of passion. To thine arms,
To hide her infamy, the false girl
Would gladly fly.
Sforza.
Liar and fiend accursed!
My eager sword thirsts for thy blood; this earth
On which thou stand'st should be thy sepulchre,
But that I pant to drag thy dastard form
To open day, to force thy serpent tongue
Before assembled multitudes to prove
Thine own dishonours[1], clear my injured fame,
And give thee up to obloquy and scorn.
The most deceitful, desperate wretch would fear
To cast a blot on Veronica's name.
Secure in virgin innocence she stands;
