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O, listen to him, father!

Let go my robe, fond creature! Listen to him! The song of syrens were less fatal. Charms Of dire delusion, luring on to ruin, Are mingled with the words that speak their faith; They, who once hear them, flutter round destruction With giddy fascination, like the moth, Which, shorn of half its form, all scorch'd and shrivell'd, Still to the torch returns. I will not listen; No, Portia, nor shalt thou.

O, say not so For if you listen to him, you may save him, And win him from his errors.

Vain hope! vain hope! What is man's natural reason Opposed to demon subtlety? Cordenius! Cordenius Maro! I adjure thee, go! Leave me; why would'st thou pull destruction on me? On one who loved thee so, that tho' possess'd