Aust. My heart is touch'd for him.—Much injur'd youth,

   Suppress awhile this swelling indignation;

   Plead for thy life.

 Theod. I will not meanly plead;

   Nor, were my neck bow'd to his bloody block,

   If love's my crime, would I disown my love.

 Count. Then, by my soul, thou diest!

 Theod. And let me die:

   With my last breath I'll bless her. My spirit, free

   From earth's encumbering clogs, shall soar above thee.

   Anxious, as once in life, I'll hover round her,

   Teach her new courage to sustain this blow,

   And guard her, tyrant! from thy cruelty.

 Count. Ha! give me way!

 Aust. Why, this is madness, youth:

   You but inflame the rage you should appease.

 Theod. He thinks me vile. 'Tis true, indeed, I seem so:

   But, though these humble weeds obscure my outside,

   I have a soul, disdains his contumely;

   A guiltless spirit, that provokes no wrong,

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