A. What art thou, in such sort that wail'st thy fall,
And comes surcharg'd with an excessiue griefe?
H. A wofull wretch, that comes to craue releefe,
And was his heart that now hath none at all.
A. Why dost thou thus to me vnfold thy state,
As if with thy mishaps I would imbroile me?
H. Because the loue I bare to you did spoile me,
And was the instrument of my hard fate:
A. And dare so base a wretch so high aspire,
As for to pleade for interest in my grace?
Go get thee hence; or if thou do not cease,
I vow to burne thee with a greater fire:
H. Ah, ah, this great vnkindnes stops my breath,
Since those that I loue best procure my death.