Art left to sad, despairing watch. I'll stay,
For I've no words to part with, none to tell
How breaks my heart in going.
Kent. Nay, I must work,
And you will call my wits to otherwheres;
Then in the morn these eyes, undewed with sleep,
Will show me not the light that must be mine.
Mar. Dost toy with words to me? Not in my eyes,
But in my heart burns thy unfailing torch,
And if you find it dim it is thy secret