_Are_. Thy love: without which, all the Land
Discovered yet, will serve me for no use,
But to be buried in.

_Phi_. Is't possible?

_Are_. With it, it were too little to bestow
On thee: Now, though thy breath doth strike me dead
(Which know it may) I have unript my breast.

_Phi_. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,
To lay a train for this contemned life,
Which you may have for asking: to suspect
Were base, where I deserve no ill: love you!
By all my hopes I do, above my life:
But how this passion should proceed from you
So violently, would amaze a man, that would be jealous.

_Are_. Another soul into my body shot,
Could not have fill'd me with more strength and spirit,
Than this thy breath: but spend not hasty time,
In seeking how I came thus: 'tis the gods,
The gods, that make me so; and sure our love
Will be the nobler, and the better blest,
In that the secret justice of the gods
Is mingled with it. Let us leave and kiss,
Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us,
And we should part without it.
_Phi_. 'Twill be ill
I should abide here long.