Why, Bianca,
Report has cozen'd thee. I am not fallen
From my expected honours or possessions,
Though from the hope of birth-right.
BIANCA.
Are you not?
Then I am lost again! I have a suit too;
You'll grant it, if you be a good man.
Pray, do not talk of aught I have said to you....
.... Pity me,
But never love me more....
I will pray for you,
That you may have a virtuous wife, a fair one;
And when I am dead....
CESARIO.
Fy, fy!
BIANCA.
Think on me sometimes,
With mercy for this trespass!
CESARIO.
Let us kiss
At parting as at coming.
BIANCA.