Orle. Begone: leave that with me, and leave me to myself; if the king ask for me, swear to him I am sick, and thou shalt not lie; pray thee leave me.
Boy. I am gone, sir. [Exit.
Orle. This music makes me but more out of tune.
O, Agripyne.
Gall. Gentle friend, no more.
Thou sayest love is a madness, hate it then,
Even for the name’s sake.
Orle. O, I love that madness,
Even for the name’s sake.
Gall. Let me tame this frenzy,
By telling thee thou art a prisoner here,
By telling thee she’s daughter to a king,
By telling thee the King of Cyprus’ son
Shines like a sun, between her looks and thine,
Whilst thou seem’st but a star to Agripyne:
He loves her.
Orle. If he do: why so do I.
Gall. Love is ambitious, and loves majesty.
Orle. Dear friend, thou art deceived, love’s voice doth sing
As sweetly in a beggar as a king.