Holds but one treasure—thee: and thou dost wrong
Creation, staking all her store at once
On such a sleight of fortune. It shall not be.
Nay, for my sake it shall not. Dost thou love me?
Pal. Love thee? O, Margaret, when I look on thee,
And see the dazzling wealth, with which I hardly
Shall scrape to heaven, may God forgive me, love,
But I would be for ever pinched in hell,
Rather than miss thee.
Mar.To me art thou as precious: