Hip. How dead? what's that?—But whatsoe'er it be, I long to have her.
Ferd. Time and my grief may make me die.
Hip. But, for a friend, you should make haste; I ne'er Asked any thing of you before.
Ferd. I see your ignorance, And, therefore, will instruct you in my meaning. The woman, whom I love, saw you, and loved you; Now, sir, if you love her, you'll cause my death.
Hip. Be sure I'll do it then.
Ferd. But I am your friend; And I request you that you would not love her.
Hip. When friends request unreasonable things, Sure they're to be denied. You say she's fair; And I must love all who are fair: for, to tell you A secret, sir, which I have lately found Within myself, they're all made for me.
Ferd. That's but a fond conceit: You're made for one, And one for you.
Hip. You cannot tell me, sir; I know I'm made for twenty hundred women, (I mean, if there so many be i'the world,) So that, if I once see her, I shall love her.