[018] Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
020 This is a letter of your own device.
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents:
[022] Phebe did write it.
Ros.
Come, come, you are a fool,
[023] And turn’d into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand,
025 A freestone-colour’d hand; I verily did think