Who starves even as you feed. Her love is mine.
By Heaven, I know 'tis mine! Yet I must go—
Leave her to perish. Ay, her flower soul
Not long will bear the weight of unloved love.
[Soldiers enter hall, rear, drinking and singing]
O, Helen had a rosy lip,
And only one might kiss it,
But all of mistress wine may sip
And she will never miss it.
Ho, brothers all are we,