Oc. It is I must sue.
Nay, nay, my sweet, no liquid gem drop now
On misery's broken altar, too long rich
With these eyes' jewels.
The. Ah, thou'rt mine ... still mine.
Oc. Ere I have done your constancy shall hear
Such music of true love you'll think those birds
That move the gentle concords of the night
In these bright locks make bower continual.
[Kisses her hair]