Hip. He mocks me too, most basely.
Zen. Did ye faith? did ye forget so far?
Arn. Come, come, no weeping;
I would have lyen first in my grave, believe that.
Why will you ask those things you would not hear?
She is too untemperate to betray my vertues,
Too openly lascivious: had she dealt
But with that seeming modesty she might,
And flung a little Art upon her ardor,
But 'twas forgot, and I forgot to like her,
And glad I was deceiv'd. No my Zenocia,
My first love here begun, rests here unreapt yet,
And here for ever.
Zen. You have made me happy, Even in the midst of bondage blest.
Zab. You see now What rubs are in your way.
Hip. And quickly Zabulon I'le root 'em out.—Be sure you do this presently.
Zab. Do not you alter then.
Hip. I am resolute. [Exit Zabulon.
Arn. To see you only I came hither last, Drawn by no love of hers, nor base allurements, For by this holy light I hate her heartily.
Leop. I am glad of that, you have sav'd me so much vengeance And so much fear, From this hour fair befal you.