Sir Hub. Your love’s blood! mistress, was he your love? 51
Fra. He was so, sir; let your daughter hear it: do not veep, lady; de young man dat be slain did not love you, for he still lovit me ten tousant tousant times more dearly.
Bea. O my heart, I will love you the better; I cannot hate what he affected. O passion, O my grief! which way wilt break, think, and consume!
Cri. Peace!
Bea. Dear woes cannot speak. 60
Fra. For look you, lady, dis your ring he gave me, vid most bitter jests at your scorn’d kindness.
Bea. He did not ill not to love me, but sure he did not well to mock me: gentle minds will pity, though they cannot love; yet peace and my love sleep with him. Unlace, good nurse; alas! I was not so ambitious of so supreme an happiness, that he should only love me; ’twas joy enough for me, poor soul, that I only might only love him.
Fra. O but to be abused, scorn’d, scoff’d at! O ten tousand divla, by such a one, and unto such a one! 71
Bea. I think you say not true, sister; shall we know one another in the other world?
Cri. What means my sister?