100 If half thy outward graces had been placed
[101] About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!
But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,
Thou pure impiety and impious purity!
For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love,
105 And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.
[108] Leon. Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me? [Hero swoons.
Beat. Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?