(A harp heard.)
Cel. O fine comparisons! but hark, I hear
The widow’d turtle in the leaves away
Calling her faithless mate.
Prince. Yes, Celio, ’tis
Porcia—if she sings to me of love,
I am to approach the window; but if jealousy,
I am to keep aloof. Listen!
Porcia (singing within).
Of all the shafts to Cupid’s bow.