Car. Does she then return you——
Lor. Everything my passion can require.
Car. Its wants are small, I find.
Lor. Extended as the Heavens.
Car. I pity you.
Lor. He must be a Deity that does so.
Car. Yet I'm a mortal, and once more can pity you. Alas, Lorenzo, 'tis a poor cordial to an aching heart, to have the tongue alone announce it happy; besides 'tis mean, you should be more a man.
Lor. I find I have made you an unhappy one, so can forgive the boilings of your spleen.
Car. This seeming calmness might have the effect your vanity proposes by it; had I not a testimony of her love would (should I shew it) sink you to the center.