You likened our past life to—was it storm
Throughout to you then, Henry?
Mer. Of your life
I spoke—what am I, what my life, to waste
A thought about when you are by me?—you
It was, I said my folly called the storm
And pulled the night upon. 'T was day with me—
Perpetual dawn with me.
Mil. Come what come will,
You have been happy; take my hand!