EM.
I am going homewards, sir.
MOUNTNEY.
Yet stay, sweet love, to whom I must disclose
The hidden secrets of a lovers thoughts,
Not doubting but to find such kind remorse
As naturally you are enclined to.
EM.
The Gentle-man, your friend, Sir,
I have not seen him this four days at the least.
MOUNTNEY.
Whats that to me?
I speak not, sweet, in person of my friend,
But for my self, whom, if that love deserve
To have regard, being honourable love,
Not base affects of loose lascivious love,
Whom youthful wantons play and dally with,
But that unites in honourable bands of holy rites,
And knits the sacred knot that Gods--
[Here Em cuts him off.]
EM.
What mean you, sir, to keep me here so long?
I cannot understand you by your signs;
You keep a pratling with your lips,
But never a word you speak that I can hear.
MOUNTNEY.
What, is she deaf? a great impediment.
Yet remedies there are for such defects.
Sweet Em, it is no little grief to me,
To see, where nature in her pride of art
Hath wrought perfections rich and admirable--
EM.
Speak you to me, Sir?
MOUNTNEY.
To thee, my only joy.
EM.
I cannot hear you.
MOUNTNEY.
Oh, plague of Fortune! Oh hell without compare!
What boots it us to gaze and not enjoy?
EM.
Fare you well, Sir.
[Exit Em. Manet Mountney.]
MOUNTNEY.
Fare well, my love. Nay, farewell life and all!
Could I procure redress for this infirmity,
It might be means she would regard my suit.
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