I fear’d the consequence. I know the ways
Of lovers: they oft take offense at things
You dream not of.
Clit. But my companion, Sir,
Is confident I would not wrong him.
Chrem. Granted.
Yet you should cease to hang forever on them.
Withdraw, and leave them sometimes to themselves.
Love has a thousand sallies; you restrain them.
I can conjecture from myself. There’s none,