Thom. Kiss me, and be my friend, we two were twins,
And shall we now grow strangers?
Dor. 'Tis not my fault.
Thom. Well, there be other women, and remember
You, you were the cause of this; there be more lands too,
And better People in 'em, fare ye well,
And other loves; what shall become of me
And of my vanities, because they grieve ye?
Dor. Come hither, come, do you see that Cloud that flies there?
So light are you, and blown with every fancy:
Will ye but make me hope ye may be civil?
I know your Nature's sweet enough, and tender,
Not grated on, nor curb'd: do you love your Mistress?
Thom. He lies that says I do not.
Dor. Would ye see her?
Thom. If you please, for it must be so.
Dor. And appear to her
A thing to be belov'd?
Thom. Yes.
Dor. Change then
A little of your wildness into wisdom,
And put on a more smoothness;
I'll do the best I can to help ye, yet
I do protest she swore, and swore it deeply,
She would never see you more; where's your mans heart now?
What, do you faint at this?