Fab.

Here he comes, with your niece; give them way, 'till he take leave, and presently after him.

Sir To.

I will meditate the while upon some horrid message, for a challenge.

Oli.
I've said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid my honour too unchary out.
There's something in me that reproves my fault;
But such a head-strong potent fault it is,
That it but mocks reproof.

Vio.
With the same 'haviour that your passion bears,
Goes on your master's grief.

Oli.
Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture;
Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you:
And I beseech you, come again, to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
That honour sav'd may upon asking give?

Vio.
Nothing but this, your true love for my master.

Oli.
How with mine honour may I give him that,
Which I have given to you?

Vio.
I will acquit you.

Oli.
Well, come again, to-morrow; fare thee well. [Exit.

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