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Gra. [To Nerissa.]

By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong;

In faith, I gave it to the judge’s clerk.

Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,

Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.

Por.

A quarrel ho already! what’s the matter?

Gra.

About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring

That she did give me, whose posy was

For all the world like cutler’s poetry

Upon a knife, “Love me, and leave me not.”

Ner.

What talk you of the posy or the value?

You swore to me, when I did give [it] you,

That you would wear it till your hour of death,

And that it should lie with you in your grave.

Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,

You should have been respective and have kept it.

Gave it a judge’s clerk! no, God’s my judge,

The clerk will ne’er wear hair on ’s face that had it.

Gra.

He will, and if he live to be a man.

Ner.

Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

Gra.

Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,

A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,

No higher than thyself, the judge’s clerk,

A prating boy, that begg’d it as a fee.