Phil. But will you love me?
Mar. No, by my chastity.
Phil. I hope you do but jest.
Mar. Nay, I'll keep mine oath,
Men shall abandon pride and jealousy
Ere I'll be bound to their captivity:
They shall live continent, and leave to range,
But men (like to the moon) each month must change;
Yet we must seek that nought their sight displeases,
And mix our wedlock sweets with loath'd diseases;
When we consume ourselves and our best beauty,
All our reward is—why, 'twas but our duty.
Phil. Judge not so hard of all for some offenders;
For you are subject to the selfsame crimes,
Of men and women always have been had
Some good of each——
Mar. But for the most part bad:
Therefore I'll have none at all, but die a perfect maid.
Phil. That humour like a flower soon will fade;
Once did mine own thoughts sing to that delight,
Till love and you reform'd my barbarousness:
Therefore, dear lady, pity my wounded heart.
Mar. A surgeon here for this love-wounded man!
How deep's your ulcer'd orifice, I pray you tell?
Phil. Quite thorough my heart.
Mar. 'Tis strange, and look so well!
Yet ladies' eyes have power to murder men,
And with one smile to make them whole again.
Achilles' lance to a hair; but do you love me, prince?