_Dem_. What?

_Cel_. I should be friends with you too,
Now I think better.

_Dem_. Ye are a tall Souldier:
Here, take these, and these;
This gold to furnish ye, and keep this bracelet;
Why do you weep now?
You a masculine Spirit?

_Cel_. No, I confess, I am a fool, a woman:
And ever when I part with you--

_Dem_. You shall not,
These tears are like prodigious signs, my sweet one,
I shall come back, loaden with fame, to honour thee.

_Cel_. I hope you shall:
But then my dear _Demetrius_,
When you stand Conquerour, and at your mercy
All people bow, and all things wait your sentence;
Say then your eye (surveying all your conquest)
Finds out a beautie, even in sorrow excellent,
A constant face, that in the midst of ruine
With a forc'd smile, both scorns at fate, and fortune:
Say you find such a one, so nobly fortified,
And in her figure all the sweets of nature?