Jul. O my dear Rodorick!
Gons. O cruel Julia!
For pity shew not all your joy before me;
Stifle some part of it one minute longer,
'Till I am dead.
Jul. My Rodorick shall know, He owes his Julia to you; thank him, love; In faith I take it ill you are so slow.
Rod. You know he has forbid me; and, beside, He'll take it better from your mouth than mine; All that you do must needs be pleasing to him.
Jul. Still sullen and unkind!
Rod. Why, then, in short, I do not understand the benefit.
Gons. Not to have Julia in thy free possession?
Rod. Not brought by you; not of another's leaving.
Jul. Speak softly, Rodorick: Let not these hear thee; But spare my shame for the ill choice I made, In loving thee.
Rod. I will speak loud, and tell thee,
Thou com'st, all cloyed and tired with his embraces,
To proffer thy palled love to me; his kisses
Do yet bedew thy lips; the very print,
His arms made round thy body, yet remains.