Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark’d him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
125 To fall in love with him: but, for my part,
I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
[127] I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black and my hair black;
130 And, now I am remember’d, scorn’d at me:
I marvel why I answer’d not again: