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It is not in thy nature; but distress, From filial duty, strain'd, perhaps, too far, Have made thee so. Remain, my love, with me; Thou wilt forgive me when thou hast consider'd.

I cannot now consider, with a heart Gored to the quick. I pray you, then, my lord, Permit me to retire.

I'll lead thee to thy closet: lean on me. (She waves him off with her hand.) Wilt thou not deign to do it? An absent father and a present husband I' th' scales are put, and, to all outward seeming, The last doth kick the beam. Is it for this— For this that I have given my freedom up, Drawn every strong affection of my heart To one dear point?—and this the poor return! (After a second pause.) My life in such a perilous circumstance., And now restored to her and to my home, This is of small account. O woman, woman! One corner of a gallant's passing fancy Pleaseth thee well; the whole devoted heart Of man matured is to thee as a yoke, A cumb'rous weight from which thou would'st escape;