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E'er tempt me to conceive unworthy thoughts, I am a vulgar wretch, debased and mean, Unworthy even to look thee in the face, Or hold myself akin to virtue. No; I will no more offend.

Re-enter Nurse, who is busy arranging her basket, and then looking up, starts on seeing. Nay, start not, worthy Nurse; pray thee advance.

I came—I thought my Lady was alone.

And so she is; for we are so united In every thought and wish, that thou should'st reckon. When with each other, we are still alone. Is it not so?—Thou comest for some good purpose, I'll swear. To whom bear'st thou that tempting fruit?

To no one, Sir; I come to show its beauty: It is my Lady's basket.