Bian. Are you not?
Then I am lost again, I have a suit too;
You'll grant it if you be a good man.
Ces. Any thing.
Bian. Pray doe not talk of ought what I have said t'ee.
Ces. As I wish health I will not.
Bian. Pitty me, but never love me more.
Ces. Nay now y'are cruell,
Why all these tears?—Thou shalt not go.
Bian. I'll pray for ye
That you may have a virtuous wife, a fair one,
And when I am dead—
Ces. Fy, fy.
Bian. Think on me sometimes,
With mercy for this trespass.
Ces. Let us kiss
At parting as at coming.