B: Go get thee heart from hence, for thou hast prou'd
The hatefull traitor that procur'd my fall.

H: May I not yet once satisfie for all,
Whose loyaltie may make thee to be lou'd?

B: Ile neuer trust one that hath once betraid me:
For once a traitor, and then neuer true.

H: Yet would my wracke but make thee first to rue,
That could trust none if thou hadst once dismaid me.

B: How euer others make me for to smart,
I scorne to haue an enemie in my brest.

H: Well, if that thou spoile me, Ile spoile thy rest,
Want I a bodie, thou shalt want a heart:
Thus do th'vnhappie still augment their harmes,
And thou hast kild thy selfe with thine owne armes.