Alon. This to thy very soul.

Leon. Thou'rt not in earnest?

Alon. Serious as death.

Leon. Then heav'n have mercy on thee.

[going.

Alon. Madam, stay.

Leon. Arts?

Alon. Arts! Confess; for death is in my hand.

Leon. 'Tis in your words.

Alon. Confess, confess, confess!

Leon. I scorn to answer thee, presumptuous man!

Alon. Deny then, and incur a fouler shame.

Leon. Ha, don Carlos!

Alon. I know it; but is vice so very rank,

Leon. Repent.

Alon. Is that for me?

Leon. Fall, ask my pardon.

Alon. Astonishment!

Leon. Dar'st thou persist to think I am dishonest?

Alon. I know thee so.

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