Sir.
Claudius.
I know not
How to address you in my sorrow.
Do you say that Cynthia was
One of those not over-modest
Beauties who to court Chrysanthus
Hither came, and who (strange portent!)
Had some share of his bewitchment
In the stupor that came on them?
Escarpin.
Yes, sir, and what 's worse, Daria
Was another, thus the torment
That we both endure is equal,
If my case be not the stronger,
Since to love her would be almost
Less an injury than to scorn her.
Claudius.
Well, I will not quarrel with you
On the point (for it were nonsense)
Whether one should feel more keenly
Love or hate, disdain or fondness
Shown to one we love; enough
'T is to me to know, that prompted
Or by vanity or by interest,
She came hither to hold converse
With him, 't is enough to make me
Lose the love I once felt for her.
Escarpin.
Sir, two men, one bald, one squint-eyed,
Met one day . . .
Claudius.