Euph. Pray, what is it, love?
Con. Tis love indeed to thee, but to my heart
Every loose sentence is a killing dart.
I brought this Gyges[175] to my hearts delight
And he hath drown'd his senses with the sight.
Except thy selfe, all things to him were free:
Otho, thou hast done me more then injurie;
Well maist thou fixe thy eye upon the earth,
This action sith[176] breedes a prodigious birth:
It is so monstrous, and against all kinde,
That the lights splendor would confound thy minde.
Otho. I have offended, prethee pardon me.
Con. What cause did move thee?
Otho. Her all conquering sight.
Con. Couldst thou usurpe upon my well known right?
Otho. Thinke, I am flesh and blood, and she is faire.
Con. Thinke how I love thee.
Otho. There proceeds my care.
Con. Our amitie hath bin of ancient dayes, During which time wrong'd I thee any wayes?