Will you so?
And I--let us clasp hands and kiss on it.
BEATRICE. Clasp hands, Sir Trustful; but not kiss--nay, nay!
I will not pay my forfeit till I lose.
LARA. And I'll not lose the forfeit.
BEATRICE. We shall see.
[_Exit_ BEATRICE.
LARA. She has as many fancies as the wind
Which now, like slumber, lies 'mong spicy isles,
Then suddenly blows white furrows in the sea!
Lovely and dangerous is my leopardess.
To-day, low-lying at my feet; to-morrow,
With great eyes flashing, threatening doleful death--
With strokes like velvet! She's no common clay,
But fire and dew and marble. I'll not throw
So rare a wonder in the lap o' the world!
Jealous? I am not jealous--though they say
Some sorts of love breed jealousy. And yet,
I would I had not wagered; it implies
Doubt.
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