_Lady._ 'Tis too much.
Would I had been that storm, he had not perisht.
If you'l rail now I will forgive you Sir.
Or if you'l call in more, if any more
Come from this ruine, I shall justly suffer
What they can say, I do confess my self
A guiltie cause in this. I would say more,
But grief is grown too great to be delivered.
_Elder Lo._ I like this well: these women are strange things.
'Tis somewhat of the latest now to weep,
You should have wept when he was going from you,
And chain'd him with those tears at home.
_La._ Would you had told me then so, these two arms had been his Sea.
_Elder Lo._ Trust me you move me much: but say he lived, these were
forgotten things again.
_Lady._ I, say you so? Sure I should know that voice: this is knavery.
I'le fit you for it. Were he living Sir, I would perswade you to be
charitable, I, and confess we are not all so ill as your opinion holds us.
O my friend, what penance shall I pull upon my fault, upon my most
unworthy self for this?
_Elder Lo._ Leave to love others, 'twas some jealousie
That turn'd him desperate.
_Lady._ I'le be with you straight: are you wrung there?
_Elder Lo._ This works amain upon her.
_Lady._ I do confess there is a Gentleman
Has born me long good will.
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