Cel. That were a cruelty, when care may cure him,
Why do you weep so, Sir? he may recover.
Val. He may, but with much danger; my sweet Cellide,
You have a powerful tongue.
Cel. To do you service.
Val. I will betray his grief; he loves a Gentlewoman,
A friend of yours, whose heart another holds,
He knows it too; yet such a sway blind fancy,
And his not daring to deliver it,
Have won upon him, that they must undo him:
Never so hopeful and so sweet a Spirit,
Misfortune fell so foul on.
Cel. Sure she's hard hearted,
That can look on, and not relent, and deeply
At such a misery; she is not married?
Val. Not yet.
Cel. Nor near it?
Val. When she please.
Cel. And pray Sir,
Does he deserve her truly, that she loves so?
Val. His love may merit much, his Person little,
For there the match lyes mangled.