"You must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes; not comforted to live,
But that there is this jewel in the world,
That I may see again."
And to his farewell she replies:
"Nay, stay a little.
Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
Such parting were too petty."
When he is gone she cries:
"There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharp than this is."
Her father's upbraidings leave her cold:
"I am senseless of your wrath'; a touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears."
To his continued reproaches she only replies with a rapturous eulogy of Posthumus:
"He is
A man worth any woman; overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays."
And her passion deepens after her husband's departure. She envies the handkerchief he has kissed; she laments that she could not watch his receding ship; she would have "broke her eye-strings" to see the last of it. He has been torn away from her while she had yet "most pretty things to say;" how she would think of him and beg him to think of her at three fixed hours of every day; and she would have made him swear not to forget her for any "she of Italy." He was gone before she could give him the parting kiss which she had set "betwixt two charming words."