Reason no more, for I do love this woman:
To me she's chaste, whatever thou hast heard.
Whatever I may know, hear, find, or fancy,
I must possess her constantly, or die.
Heywood.
Nay, if't be thus, I'll fret thine ear no more
With raven voice; but aid thee all I can.
Marlowe.
Cecilia!—Go, dear friend—good Master Heywood,
Leave me alone—I see her coming thither!