Enter Julia with the pomegranate.

Tis well done, Julia, quickely cut it up;
And bring a cup of wine, or let me doo’t.

Otho.  I see I shall be plagu’d with mine owne wit;
Being asham’d to speake, I writ my minde.—­
Were you my friends, you would not martyr me
With needlesse phisicke; fie upon this trash,
The very sight is loathsome.

Con.  Take it up:  But let me see, what letter’s that that dropt?  Came it from you, or from the Spanish fruit?

Ju.  Tis all the graines that the pomegranate had.

Con.  Then theres some trechery within these graines:  Ile breake it up.  And tis directed to my Euphrata.

Euph.  What may the tenure be?  I pray thee read it.

[He opens the letter & reads.

Otho.  O fall upon me some wind-shaken turret
To hide me from the anger of my friend,
O from his frowne! because he is my friend. 
Were he an enemie, I would be bold;
But kindnes makes this wound.  O, this horror! 
The words of friends, are stronger then their power.

Con.  Withdraw, good Julia.
                                 [Exit Julia.

Euph.  Pray, what is it, love?

Con.  Tis love indeed to thee, but to my heart
Every loose sentence is a killing dart. 
I brought this Gyges[175] to my hearts delight
And he hath drown’d his senses with the sight. 
Except thy selfe, all things to him were free: 
Otho, thou hast done me more then injurie;
Well maist thou fixe thy eye upon the earth,
This action sith[176] breedes a prodigious birth: 
It is so monstrous, and against all kinde,
That the lights splendor would confound thy minde.

Otho.  I have offended, prethee pardon me.

Con.  What cause did move thee?

Otho.  Her all conquering sight.

Con.  Couldst thou usurpe upon my well known right?

Otho.  Thinke, I am flesh and blood, and she is faire.

Con.  Thinke how I love thee.

Otho.  There proceeds my care.

Con.  Our amitie hath bin of ancient dayes, During which time wrong’d I thee any wayes?

Otho.  Never.

Con.  But rather I have done thee good.

Otho.  I grant you have, O rather shed my blood Then number the kind deedes betweene us past.

[Con.] For this unkindnesse, here I love my last.

Euph.  He doth repent, and will renounce his suite.

Otho.  I doe renounce it.

Con.  O thou canst not do’t.

Otho.  Suffer me stay a while in her faire sight, ’Twill heal my wound and all love banish quite.

Con.  The sight of the belov’d makes the desire,
That burnt but slowly, flame like sparkling fire. 
As thou dost love me, take thee to some place
Where thou maist nere see her, nor I thy face.