And much endure, to wreak me on my foe.
Charles, I am wrong’d, insulted—nay, be still,
Nor look so fiercely—there are none to kill.
“I loved a lady, somewhat late in life,
Perhaps too late, and would have made a wife; 290
Nay, she consented; for consent I call
The mark’d distinction that was seen of all,
And long was seen; but when she knew my pain,
Saw my first wish her favour to obtain,
And ask her hand—no sooner was it ask’d,