I did refuse you, Margaret, in my pride.
_Marg_.

If John rejected Margaret in his pride, (As who does not, being splenetic, refuse Sometimes old playfellows,) the spleen being gone, The offence no longer lives.
O Woodvil, those were happy days, When we two first began to love.

When first, Under pretence of visiting my father, (Being then a stripling night upon my age,) You came a-wooing to his daughter, John.
Do you remember, With what a coy reserve and seldom speech, (Young maidens must be chary of their speech,) I kept the honors of my maiden pride?
I was your favorite then.
_John_.

O Margaret, Margaret! These your submissions to my low estate, And cleavings to the fates of sunken Woodvil, Write bitter things 'gainst my unworthiness.
Thou perfect pattern of thy slander'd sex, Whom miseries of mine could never alienate, Nor change of fortune shake; whom injuries, And slights (the worst of injuries) which moved Thy nature to return scorn with like scorn, Then when you left in virtuous pride this house, Could not so separate, but now in this My day of shame, when all the world forsake me, You only visit me, love, and forgive me.
_Marg_.

Dost yet remember the green arbor.