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Besides us two, i' th' temple here's not one To make up now a congregation. Let's to the altar of perfumes then go, And say short prayers; and when we have done so, Then we shall see, how in a little space Saints will come in to fill each pew and place.

What conscience, say, is it in thee, When I a heart had one, To take away that heart from me, And to retain thy own?

For shame or pity now incline To play a loving part; Either to send me kindly thine, Or give me back my heart.

Covet not both; but if thou dost Resolve to part with neither, Why! yet to show that thou art just, Take me and mine together.

I cannot suffer; and in this my part Of patience wants. Grief breaks the stoutest heart.