No more respect, then to be trifled thus?
Come, prethee tell me.
Lor. Yes? to delude
Your feares with fond impossibilities?
Le. Nay, now thou tortur’st me.
Lor. Well, I haue done.
But leaue your sighes, your heigh-ho’s, and ay-me’s:
For I haue newes will warme you like the Sunne,
And make you open like the Marigold.
Le. Why, now thou rauish’st me.