To slay at once, but with a lingering death
Infect my life—
Por. Nay, calm yourself.
Ser. We met,
Porcia—and from those idle meetings love
Sprang up between us both—for though ’tis true
That at the first I laugh’d at his advances,
And turn’d his boyish suit into disdain,
Yet true it also is that in my heart
There lurk’d a lingering feeling yet behind,