When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
125 Is’t not enough, is’t not enough, young man,
That I did never, no, nor never can,
[127] Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius’ eye,
But you must flout my insufficiency?
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,
130 In such disdainful manner me to woo.
But fare you well: perforce I must confess
I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
O, that a lady, of one man refused,