Ant. What said my fairest Mistress? [Goes to her looking softly.
Hip. I said that thou wert perjur’d, false and base. [Less in Rage.
Ant. My dear Hippolyta, speak it again,
I do not understand thee, [Takes her by the Hand.
Hip. I said that thou wert perjur’d, my Antonio. [Sighs.
Ant. Thou wert to blame, but ’twas thy Jealousy.
Which being a Fault of Love I will excuse.
Give me that Mark of Anger, prithee do,
It misbecomes thy Hand.
Hip. I’ve nothing left but this I can command,