Doresta. Well, by my faith, it grieves my heart to see
That thou so mortal art. Dost think to die
Of this disease?
Boreas. ’T would not be wonderful.
Doresta. But still, my gallant Sir, perhaps you’ll find
That they who give the suffering take it too.
Boreas. In sooth, I ask no better than to do
As do my fellows,—give and take; but now
I take, fair dame, a thousand hurts,
And still give none.