Ferd. Is it your voice, my love? or do I dream?
Mir. Speak softly, it is I.
Ferd. O heavenly creature! Ten times more gentle than your fathers cruel!— How, on a sudden, all my griefs are vanished!
Mir. How do you bear your prison?
Ferd. 'Tis my palace, While you are here, and love and silence wait Upon our wishes; do but think we chuse it, And 'tis what we would chuse.
Mir. I'm sure what I would. But how can I be certain that you love me? Look to't; for I will die when you are false. I've heard my father tell of maids, who died, And haunted their false lovers with their ghosts.
Ferd. Your ghost must take another form to fright me, This shape will be too pleasing.—Do I love you? O, heaven! O, earth! bear witness to this sound, If I prove false!—
Mir. O, hold! you shall not swear, For heaven will hate you if you prove forsworn.
Ferd. Did I not love, I could no more endure This undeserved captivity, than I Could wish to gain my freedom, with the loss Of you.
Mir. I am a fool, to weep at what I'm glad of: But I have a suit to you, And that, sir, shall Be now the only trial of your love.