De F. No! what then, in all the volumes of black destiny
And nature, can throw you into this posture?
Unkind Cleara, why dost dissemble it? I see him
Breathless on thy cheek, and lost.
De F. My fears did prompt me so. For ever!
There's horror and amazement in the thought.
See, Cleara, my eyes can overtake thee.
Gone at so short a farewell, friend? Death,
Thou art the murderer of all our joys and hopes.
Cle. Sir, Dessandro's well, very well; we parted
Even but now.
De F. What!
Cle. O brother, I have lost a jewel that he gave me;
I shall vex my eyes out.
De F. Beshrew this serious folly; you have vex'd my
Blood into a sullen fit.
Cle. You shall not chide me;
Tell me, didst ever in thy life meet with a grief
That made thy poor heart sick, and did divide
Thy sleeps and hours into groans and sighs?
De F. Never, [I] thank my indifferent fate.
Cle. Nor in the legend of some injur'd maid,
That made thine eye to pause, and with a tear
Bedew it?