Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, Make mouths upon me when I turn my back; Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up: This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. If you have any pity, grace, or manners, You would not make me such an argument. But fare ye well: ’tis partly my own fault; Which death or absence soon shall remedy.

Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse: My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!

Thou canst compel no more than she entreat: Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers. Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do: I swear by that which I will lose for thee, To prove him false that says I love thee not.

No, no; he’ll Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow, But yet come not: you are a tame man, go!