Mon. So short with them that love you?
Euph. Your journey may be great, for ought I know; And 'tis an argument of little love To be the hinderer of a traveller.
Mon. My journey, Madame, is unto my house, Scarce halfe a league hence, there to pine and die, Because I love such beauteous crueltie.
Euph. God speede you, sir.
Mon. Nay then I will not leave you.
Madam, 'tis thought, and that upon good ground,
You have shrin'd your affection in the heart
Of some (whatere he be) noble or base,
And thats the cause you lightlie censure[163] all.
Euph. Who thinkes it?
Mon. I doe, Madame, and your father.
Euph. It is upon my vowed chastitie.
Mon. What devill made you sweare to chastitie, Or have you tane that oath onely for a terme?
Euph. A terme, what terme?