Kill me, and I’ll embrace you whilst I die;
A thousand Wounds imprinted [on this Body],
Will bring less Pain than that her Eyes have caus’d.
Here strike—Pity my Pain and ease me. [Opens his Arms, and throws away his Sword.
Mar. I find thou hast a Charm about thy Tongue,
And thou implor’st thy Death in such a way,
I cannot hurt thee; and it gives me hopes
Thou art not yet so bless’d to be belov’d,
For then thou wouldst not be thus desperate.
Silv. Oh yes, I am belov’d.