Page:Works of Heinrich Heine 01.djvu/431

Rh

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe ; In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter loved a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. Duke. And what's her history ? Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in thought ; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ? We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed, Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, and all the brothers too.

Sir And. An' you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand ?