Luc.
Fie, how impatience lowreth in your face!

Adr.
His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look:
Hath homely age th'alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it.
Are my discourses dull? barren my wit?
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd,
Unkindness blots it more than marble hard.
Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
That's not my fault; he's master of my state.
What ruins are in me that can be found,
By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground
Of my defeatures. My decayed fair
A sunny look of his would soon repair.
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,
And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.

Luc.
Self-harming jealousie; fie, beat it hence.

Adr.
Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense:
I know his eye doth homage other-where;
Or else what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promis'd me a chain,
Would that alone, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed.
I see the jewel best enameled
Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still
That others touch, and often touching will:
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.

Luc.
How many fond fools serve mad jealousie! [Exe.

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