Scud. How sweetly does your friendship play with mine,
And with a simple subtlety steals my heart
Out of my bosom. By the holiest love
That ever made a story, you're a man
With all good so replete, that I durst trust you
Ev'n with this secret, were it singly mine.
Nev. I do believe you. Farewell, worthy friend.
Scud. Nay, look you; this same fashion does not please me:
You were not wont to make your visitation
So short and careless.
Nev. 'Tis your jealousy
That makes you think so; for, by my soul,
You have given me no distaste by keeping from me
All things that might be burthenous, and oppress me.
In troth, I am invited to a wedding,
And the morn faster goes away from me,
Than I go toward it; and so, good morrow.
Scud. Good morrow, sir: think I durst show it you.
Nev. Now, by my life, I not desire it, sir,
Nor ever lov'd these prying, listening men,
That ask of others' states and passages:
Not one among a hundred but proves false,
Envious, and slanderous, and will cut that throat
He twines his arms about. I love that poet,
That gave us reading[11] not to seek ourselves
Beyond ourselves. Farewell.
Scud. You shall not go:
I cannot now redeem the fault I have made
To such a friend, but in disclosing all.
Nev. Now, if you love me, do not wrong me so.
I see you labour with some serious thing,
And think (like fairy's treasure) to reveal it,
Will cause it vanish; and yet to conceal it,
Will burst your breast: 'tis so delicious,
And so much greater than the continent.
Scud. O! you have pierc'd my entrails with your words,
And I must now explain all to your eyes.
Read, and be happy in my happiness.