Lest he should chafe too large a debt to owe—
Strikes every blow up to the very hundredth blow
That shall at last resolve, achieve, complete
The foregone nine-and-ninety. This, grown wiser,
She leaves with him for fear he should despise her.
He wins the credit for the final feat—
Thought of his triumph, not hers, made all her toiling sweet.
Belov'd, how long before you understand?
Why, I have known two years you were my lover,
That all my being to yours was given over!