Arb.
Thou knowst the evils thou hast done to me,
Dost thou remember all those witching letters
Thou sentst unto me to Armenia,
Fild with the praise of my beloved Sister,
Where thou extolst her beautie; what had I
To doe with that, what could her beautie be
To me, and thou didst write how well shee lov'd me,
Doest thou remember this: so that I doated
Something before I saw her.
Gob.
This is true.
Arb.
Is it, and I when I was returnd thou knowst
Thou didst pursue it, till thou woundst mee into
Such a strange, and unbeleev'd affection,
As good men cannot thinke on.
Gob.
This I grant, I thinke I was the cause.
Arb.
Wert thou? Nay more, I thinke thou meantst it.