Har. Who should in all justice be yours, he that loves you most. [Claps his hand on his breast.
Alith. Look you there, Mr. Sparkish, who's that?
Spark. Who should it be?—Go on, Harcourt.
Har. Who loves you more than women titles, or fortune fools. [Points at Sparkish.
Spark. Look you there, he means me still, for he points at me.
Alith. Ridiculous!
Har. Who can only match your faith and constancy in love.
Spark. Ay.
Har. Who knows, if it be possible, how to value so much beauty and virtue.