Nay, were ‘t yourself, whose love had power you know
To bring me from my friends, I would not stand thus,
And gaze upon you always; troth, I could not, sir;
As good be blind, and have no use of sight,
As look on one thing still: what’s the eye’s treasure,
But change of objects? You are learned, sir,
And know I speak not ill; ’tis full as virtuous
For woman’s eye to look on several men,
As for her heart, sir, to be fixed on one.
Lean. Now thou com’st home to me; a kiss for that word.