Ire.
What care I?
I have loved this man too well, before he saw thee.
There, thou hast now my secret. I have loved him,
And he loved me, and left me, and betrayed me.
Was it for him to brand me with this stain?
Unfit for thy companion! If I be,
Whose fault is that but his, who found me pure
And left me what I am?
Gycia.