Dor. I'll not be satisfied: My father says He'll make your man as cold as mine is now; And when he is made cold, my father will Not let you strive to make him warm again.
Mir. In spite of you, mine never shall be cold.
Dor. I'm sure 'twas he that made me miserable, And I will be revenged. Perhaps you think 'Tis nothing to lose a man.
Mir. Yes, but there is Some difference betwixt my Ferdinand, And your Hippolito.
Dor. Ay, there's your judgment: Your's is the oldest man I ever saw, Except it were my father.
Mir. Sister, no more; It is not comely in a daughter, when She says her father's old.
Dor. But why do I Stay here, whilst my cold love perhaps may want me? I'll pray my father to make yours cold too.
Mir. Sister, I'll never sleep with you again.
Dor. I'll never more meet in a bed with you, But lodge on the bare ground, and watch my love.
Mir. And at the entrance of that cave I'll lie, And echo to each blast of wind a sigh. [Exeunt severally, looking discontentedly on one another.