Ger. Yet will ye love me? Tell me but how I have deserv'd your slighting?
Gos. For a hundred thousand Crowns?
Ger. Farewel Dissembler.
Gos. Of which I have scarce ten: O how it starts me!
Ger. And may the next you love, hearing my ruine.
Gos. I had forgot my self, O my best Gertrude, Crown of my joys and comforts.
Ger. Sweet what ails ye? I thought you had been vext with me.
Gos. My mind, Wench, My mind o'rflow'd with sorrow, sunk my memory.
Ger. Am I not worthy of the knowledge of it? And cannot I as well affect your sorrows, As your delights? you love no other Woman?
Gos. No, I protest.