Ser. Alvaro, when I think of what I was,
My tears will forth; but when of what I am,
My honour bids them cease.
Alv. You do feel then—
Ser. Nay, I’ll deny it not.
Alv. That, being another’s—
Ser. Nay, no argument—
Alv. These tears—
Ser. What tears?
Alv. Are the relenting rain