Barb. I would they had it then, for it is an abhorr'd thing here.
Will. What a rank prude is woman, thus to disguise her inclination. They call thee Barbara—Bab! restrain not thy fancy. Come, hang round my neck and love me. What! wouldst thou be an exception to thy sex?
Barb. [Strikes him.] Take that, thou coxcomb!
[Runs up the stage, WILLIAM follows, ARTHUR and FLORENCE advancing.]
Arth. Break not my dream. It is not late. The night
Will lose her beauty as thy footsteps fade
In distance from me. Florence, go not yet.
I had a thousand loyal thoughts, I swear,
To utter, and as many questions, Florence,
To ask thee of thyself. Thou lovest not,
Thou canst not love my brother; for thou saidst
As much, nay more, this moment.
Flor. Did I so? Perchance I might have done; but then I love My father—
Arth. Tell me so again!
Flor. Indeed, I love My father!
Arth. Cruel! no, I'd have thee say If thou dost love my brother.
Flor. He's my cousin.