Amid. How I fear The sweetness of those words will move her pity! I'm sure they would do mine.
Gons. You took me for a robber, but so far I am from that—
Jul. O, pr'ythee, be one still, That I may know some cause for my aversion.
Gons. I freed you from them, and more gladly did it—
Jul. Be what thou wilt, 'tis now too late to tell me: The blackness of that image, I first fancied, Has so infected me, I still must hate thee.
Hip. Though (if she loves him) all my hopes are ruined,
It makes me mad to see her thus unkind. [Aside.
Madam, what see you in this gentleman,
Deserves your scorn or hatred? love him, or
Expect just Heaven should strangely punish you.
Gons. No more: Whate'er she does is best; and if You would be mine, you must, like me, submit Without dispute.
Hip. How can I love you, sir, and suffer this? She has forgot that, which, last night, you did In her defence.
Jul. O call that night again;
Pitch her with all her darkness round: then set me
In some far desert, hemmed with mountain wolves
To howl about me: This I would endure,
And more, to cancel my obligements to him.
Gons. You owe me nothing, madam; if you do,
I make it void; and only ask your leave
To love you still; for, to be loved again
I never hope;