Hor. He dares be damn’d like thee.
[Aside.
Laz. Dare I? Ha, ha!
I have no hope of everlasting height,
My soul’s a Moor, you know, salvation’s white.
What dare I not enact then? Tush, he dies;
I will make way to Bell’-Imperia’s eyes.
Lor. To weep, I fear, but not to tender love.
Laz. Why, is she not a woman? she must weep
Awhile, as widows use, till their first sleep;