Arn. Be not blinded.
Zen. Fortune shall make me useful to your service, I will speak for you.
Arn. Speak for me? you wrong me.
Zen. I will endeavour all the wayes I am able
To make her think well of you; will that please?
To make her dote upon you, dote to madness,
So far against my self I will obey you.
But when that's done, and I have shewed this duty,
This great obedience, few will buy it at my price,
Thus will I shake hands with you, wish you well,
But never see you more, nor receive comfort
From any thing, Arnoldo.
Arn. You are too tender;
I neither doubt you, nor desire longer
To be a man, and live, than I am honest
And only yours; our infinite affections
Abus'd us both.
Zab. Where are your favours now? The courtesies you shew'd this stranger, Madam?
Hip. Have I now found the cause?
Zab. Attend it further.
Zen. Did she invite you, do you say?
Arn. Most cunningly, And with a preparation of that state I was brought in and welcom'd.