_Phil. Alphonso?_ What's your own name? _Theo._ Any base thing you can invent. _Phil._ Deal truly. _Theo._ They call me _Theodosia_. _Phil._ Ha? and love Is that that hath chang'd you thus? _Theo._ Ye have observ'd me Too nearly Sir, 'tis that indeed: 'tis love Sir: And love of him (oh heavens) why should men deal thus? Why should they use their arts to cozen us? That have no cunning, but our fears about us? And ever that too late too; no dissembling Or double way but doating: too much loving? Why should they find new oaths, to make more wretches? _Phil._ What may his name be? _Theo._ Sir, a name that promises Methinks no such ill usage: _Mark-Antonio_ A noble neighbors son: Now I must desire ye To stay a while: else my weak eyes must answer. _Phil._ I will:--Are ye yet ready? what is his quality? _Theo._ His best a thief Sir: that he would be known by Is heir to _Leonardo_, a rich Gentleman: Next of a handsome body, had heaven made him A mind fit to it. To this man my fortune, (My more than purblind fortune) gave my faith, Drawn to it by as many shews of service And signs of truth, as ever false tongue utter'd: Heaven pardon all. _Phil._ 'Tis well said: forward Lady. _Theo._ Contracted Sir, and by exchange of rings Our souls deliver'd: nothing left unfinish'd But the last work, enjoying me, and Ceremony. For that I must confess was the first wise doubt I ever made: yet after all this love Sir, All this profession of his faith; when daily And hourly I expected the blest Priest He left me like a dream, as all this story Had never been, nor thought of, why, I know not; Yet I have called my conscience to confession, And every syllable that might offend I have had in shrift: yet neither loves Law Signior, Nor tye of Maidens duty, but desiring Have I transgrest in: left his father too, Nor whither he is gone, or why departed Can any tongue resolve me: All my hope (Which keeps me yet alive, and would perswade me I may be once more happy, and thus shapes me A shame to all my modest Sex) is this Sir, I have a Brother and his old Companion, Student in _Salamanca_, there my last hope If he be yet alive, and can be loving Is left me to recover him: For which travel In this Sute left at home of that dear Brothers Thus as you find me, without fear, or wisdom, I have wander'd from my Father, fled my friends, And now am only child of hope and danger: You are now silent Sir: this tedious story (That ever keeps me waking) makes you heavy: 'Tis fit it should do so: for that, and I Can be but troubles. _Phil._ No, I sleep not Lady: I would I could: oh heaven is this my comfort? _Theo._ What ail you gentle Sir? _Phil._ Oh. _Theo._ Why do you groan so? _Phil._ I must, I must; oh misery;