Now for misunderstanding bearest ill-will.
D. I bear him no ill-will, your grace.
R.Nor me?
D. But what you have done?
R.Love can excuse me all.
What woman judges by proprieties
The man who would die for her, and who without her
Regards not life? Passion atones my fault.
D. Your only excuse is your offence.
R.’Tis thus: