Who forc’d my Nature to a stubbornness,
Which whilst I did put on, I blush to own;
And still between Thoughts so unjust, and Action,
Her Virtue would rise up and check my Soul,
Which still secur’d her Fame.
Hip. And I have seen in midst of all thy Anger,
Thou’st turn’d away, and chang’d thy Words to Sighs;
Dropt now and then a Tear, as if asham’d,
Not of thy Injuries, but my little Merit.
Amb. How weak and easy Nature makes me—Rise,