I go of myself.
Ner.What now?
Agr.’Tis well resolved.
I have been foolish; ’twas a mother’s fault,
A tender fault: forget it, and hereafter
Know my love better. If my presence bred
Dislike, thy kinder mind may yet return
When I am gone.
Ner.Why, what has happed, I pray?
Agr. Nothing. I have only come to see my error.