Arethusa—­Why then should you, in such a public place, Injure a princess, and a scandal lay Upon my fortunes, famed to be so great, Calling a great part of my dowry in question?

Philaster—­Madam, this truth which I shall speak will be Foolish:  but, for your fair and virtuous self, I could afford myself to have no right To any thing you wished.

     Arethusa—­Philaster, know,
     I must enjoy these kingdoms.

     Philaster—­Madam, both?

     Arethusa—­Both, or I die; by fate, I die, Philaster,
     If I not calmly may enjoy them both.

Philaster—­I would do much to save that noble life, Yet would be loath to have posterity Find in our stories, that Philaster gave His right unto a sceptre and a crown To save a lady’s longing.

     Arethusa—­Nay, then, hear: 
     I must and will have them, and more—­

     Philaster—­What more?

     Arethusa—­Or lose that little life the gods prepared
     To trouble this poor piece of earth withal.

     Philaster—­Madam, what more?

     Arethusa—­Turn, then, away thy face.

     Philaster—­No.

     Arethusa—­Do.

Philaster—­I can endure it.  Turn away my face!  I never yet saw enemy that looked So dreadfully, but that I thought myself As great a basilisk as he; or spake So horribly, but that I thought my tongue Bore thunder underneath, as much as his; Nor beast that I could turn from:  shall I then Begin to fear sweet sounds? a lady’s voice, Whom I do love?  Say, you would have my life:  Why, I will give it you; for ’tis to me A thing so loathed, and unto you that ask Of so poor use, that I shall make no price:  If you entreat, I will unmovedly hear.

     Arethusa—­Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks.

     Philaster—­I do.

     Arethusa—­Then know, I must have them and thee.

     Philaster—­And me?

     Arethusa—­Thy love; without which, all the land
     Discovered yet will serve me for no use
     But to be buried in.

     Philaster—­Is’t possible?

     Arethusa—­With it, it were too little to bestow
     On thee.  Now, though thy breath do strike me dead,
     (Which, know, it may,) I have unript my breast.

Philaster—­Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts To lay a train for this contemned life, Which you may have for asking:  to suspect Were base, where I deserve no ill.  Love you!  By all my hopes I do, above my life!  But how this passion should proceed from you So violently, would amaze a man That would be jealous.

Arethusa—­Another soul into my body shot Could not have filled