Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee,

Because thou see’st me dote upon my love.

170 My foolish rival, that her father likes

Only for his possessions are so huge,

Is gone with her along; and I must after,

For love, thou know’st, is full of jealousy.

Pro. But she loves you?

II. 4.
175 Val. [Ay, and we are] betroth’d: [nay, more], our [marriage-hour],

With all the cunning manner of our flight,

Determined of; how I must climb her window;