Which gives me you, I might not pardon here!
I am the Queen's; she only knows my brain:
She may experiment upon my heart
And I instruct her too by the result.
But you, Sweet, you who know me, who so long
Have told my heartbeats over, held my life
In those white hands of yours,—it is not well!
Con. Tush! I have said it, did I not say it all?
The life, for her—the heartbeats, for her sake!
Nor. Enough! my cheek grows red, I think. Your test?