She is not jealous of my fountain love;
She sheds her gentle light upon our tryst
And decks my love with diamonds of her own!
Flor. (aside). Poor, senseless fount! To have thy home in Heaven
And not to know it!
Hil.Shall I tell thee how
I came to give my poor bruised heart to thee?
Or art thou of those churlish lovers who
Can brook no love that is not born of them?
Why, then, I am unworthy in thine eyes,