Mir. He is not dead.Beshrew my heart, she stirs me!
[Aside.
Ori. He is dead to me.
Mir. Ist possible my nature
Should be so damnable, to let her suffer?
Give me your hand.
Ori. How soft you feel, how gentle!
Ill tell you your fortune, friend.
Mir. How she stares on me!
Ori. You have a flattering face, but tis a fine one;
I warrant you may have a hundred sweethearts.
Will ye
pray for me? I shall die to-morrow;
And will ye ring the bells?
Mir. I am most unworthy,
I do confess, unhappy. Do you know me?
Ori. I would I did!
Mir. Oh, fair tears, how ye take me!
Ori. Do ye weep too? You have not lost your lover?
You mock me; Ill go home and pray.
Mir. Pray you pardon me;
Or, if it please you to consider justly,
Scorn me, for I deserve it; scorn and shame
me,
Sweet Oriana!
Lil. Let her alone; she trembles:
Her fits will grow more strong, if ye provoke her.
La Ca. Certain she knows you not, yet loves to see you.
How she smiles now!
Enter Belleur.
Bel. Where are ye? Oh, why do not you laugh? Come, laugh at me!
Why a devil art thou sad, and such
a subject,
Such a ridiculous subject, as I am,
Before thy face?
Mir. Prythee put off this lightness;
This is no time for mirth, nor place; I have used too much ont:
I have
undone myself, and a sweet lady,
By being too indulgent to my foolery,
Which truly I repent. Look here!
Bel. What ails she?
Mir. Alas, she is mad.
Bel. Mad?
Mir. Yes, too sure; for me too.
Bel. Dost thou wonder at that? By this good light, they are all so;
They are cozening mad, they are brawling
mad, they are proud mad;
They are all, all mad. I came from a world of mad women,
Mad as March hares: Get
em in chains, then deal with em.
Theres one thats mad; she seems well, but she is dog-mad.
Is she
dead, dost think?
Mir. Dead? Heaven forbid!
Bel. Heaven further it!
For, till they be key-cold dead, theres no trusting of em
Whateer they seem, or
howsoeer they carry it,
Till they be chap-falln, and their tongues at peace,
Naild in their coffins sure, Ill
neer believe em.
Shall I talk with her?