Sor. No, she is constant to thee,
Constant to all thy misery she shall be,
And curse thee too.
Val. Is my strong body weakn'd,
Charm'd, or abus'd with subtle drink? speak villain.
Sor. Neither, I dare speak, thou art still as lusty
As when thou lov'dst her first, as strong and hopefull,
The month thou hast given thee is a month of misery,
And where thou think'st each hour shall yield a pleasure,
Look for a killing pain, for thou shalt find it
Before thou dyest, each minute shall prepare it,
And ring so many knels to sad afflictions;
The King has given thee a long month to dye in,
And miserably dye.
Val. Undo thy Riddle,
I am prepar'd what ever fate shall follow.
Sor. Dost thou see this Ring?
Val. I know it too.
Sor. Then mark me,
By vertue of this Ring this I pronounce to thee,
'Tis the Kings will.
Val. Let me know it suddenly.
Sor. If thou dost offer to touch Evanthes body
Beyond a kiss, though thou art married to her,
And lawfully as thou think'st may'st injoy her,
That minute she shall dye.
Val. O Devil—