_Bea._ O sister! if he were not false, whom have I lost? If he were, what grief to such unkindness! From head to foot I am all misery; Only in this, some justice I have found-- 20 My grief is like my love, beyond all bound. _Enter_ NURSE. _Nur._ My servant, Master Caqueteur, desires to visit you. _Cri._ For grief's sake keep him out; his discourse is like the long word _Honorificabilitudinitatibus_,[99] a great deal of sound and no sense: his company is like a parenthesis to a discourse,--you may admit it, or leave it out, it makes no matter. _Enter_ FREEVILL _in his disguise_. _Free._ By your leave, sweet creatures. _Cri._ Sir, all I can yet say of you is, you are uncivil. _Free._ You must deny it. By your sorrow's leave, 31 I bring some music to make sweet your grief. _Bea._ Whate'er you please. O break my heart! Canst thou yet pant? O dost thou yet survive? Thou didst not love him if thou now canst live! FREEVILL _sings_.[100] _O Love, how strangely sweet Are thy weak passions! That love and joy should meet In self-same fashions! O who can tell 40 The cause why this should move? But only this,-- No reason ask of Love!_ [BEATRICE _swounds_.[101] _Cri._ Hold, peace!--the gentlest soul is sownd. O my best sister! _Free._ Ha, get you gone, close the doors! My Beatrice! [_Discovers himself._ Cursed be my indiscreet trials! O my immeasurably loving-- _Cri._ She stirs, give air, she breathes! _Bea._ Where am I? Ha! how have I slipp'd off life? Am I in heaven? O my lord, though not loving, 51 By our eternal being, yet give me leave To rest by thy dear[102] side! Am I not in heaven? _Free._ O eternally much loved,[103] recollect your spirits! _Bea._ Ha, you do speak! I do see you, I do live! I would not die now: let me not burst with wonder. _Free._ Call up your blood; I live to honour you As the admired glory of your sex. Nor ever hath my love been false to you; Only I presum'd to try your faith too much, 60 For which I most am grieved. _Cri._ Brother, I must be plain with you, you have wrong'd us. _Free._ I am not so covetous to deny it; But yet, when my discourse hath stay'd your quaking, You will be smoother lipp'd; and the delight And satisfaction which we all have got, Under these strange disguisings, when you know, You will be mild and quiet, forget at last: It is much joy to think on sorrows past.