Which are the best of Cupid. O thou child!
Bred from despair, I dare not entertain thee,
Having a love without the faults of women,
And greater in her perfect goods than men;
Which to make good, and please myself the stronger,
Though certainly I'm certain of her love,
I'll try her, that the world and memory
May sing to after-times her constancy.
Luce, Luce, awake!
Luce. Why do you fright me, friend,