Maria. Can you say any thing
In commendation of a Mushroom withered
Assoon as started up?
Ment. You scorn an Innocent
Of noble growth, for whiles your husband liv'd
I have heard you boast Cesario in all actions
Gave matter of report of Imitation,
Wonder and envy; let not discontinuance
Of some few days estrange a sweet opinion
Of virtue, ch[ie]fly when, in such extremity,
Your pitty not contempt will argue goodness.
Maria. O Sir.
Cla. If you would use a thriving courtship,
You cannot utter a more powerfull language
That I shall listen to with greater greediness
Than th'argument you prosecute; this speaks you
A man compleat and excellent.
Ment. I speak not, they are his own deserts.
Maria. Good Sir forbear,
I am now fully sensible of running
Into a violent Lethargy, whose deadliness
Locks up all reason, I shall never henceforth
Remember my past happiness.
Ment. These clouds may be disperst.
Maria. I fear continuall night
Will over-shroud me, yet poor youth his trespass
Lies in his fortune, not the cruelty
Of the Duke's sentence.
Cla. I dare think it does.
Maria. If all fail I will learn thee to conquer
Adversity with sufferance.