You’d certain make, it were as wise a task
To try with reason to run mad. And now
What you in anger meditate—I her?
That him?—that me? that would not—pardon me!
I would die rather: No! she shall perceive
How much I am a man.—Big words like these,
She in good faith with one false tiny drop,
Which, after grievous rubbing, from her eyes
Can scarce perforce be squeez’d, shall overcome.
Nay, she shall swear, ’twas you in fault, not she;