SCENE XIII.
Lelio, Sulpitia.
Lel. The hopeful issue of thy counsel, Cricca,
Brightens this ev'ning, and makes it more excel
The clearest day, than a grey morning doth
The blindest midnight, raising my amorous thoughts
To such a pitch of joy, that riches, honour,
And other pleasures, to Sulpitia's love
Appear like mole-hills to the moon.
Sul. Lelio!
Lel. O, there's the voice that in one note contains
All chords of music: how gladly she'll embrace
The news I give her and the messenger!
Sul. Soft, soft, y' are much mistaken; for in earnest,
I am angry, Lelio, and with you.
Lel. Sweetest, those flames
Rise from the fire of love, and soon will quench
I' th' welcome news I bring you.
Sul. Stand still, I charge you
By th' virtue of my lips; speak not a syllable,
As you expect a kiss should close my choler;
For I must chide you.
Lel. O my Sulpitia!
Were every speech a pistol charg'd with death,
I'd stand them all in hope of that condition.
Sul. First, sir, I hear you teach Eugenio
Too grave a wariness in your sister's love,
And kill his honest forwardness of affection
With your far-fet[343] respects, suspicions, fears:
You have your maybes—"This is dangerous:
That course were better; for if so, and yet
Who knows? the event is doubtful; be advis'd,
'Tis a young rashness: your father is your father;
Take leisure to consider." Thus y' have consider'd
Poor Flavia almost to her grave. Fie, Lelio!
Had this my smallness undertook the business,
And done no more in four short winter's days
Than you in four months, I'd have vowed my maidenhead
To th' living tomb of a sad nunnery;
Which for your sake I loathe.
Lel. Sweet, by your favour——
Sul. Peace, peace: now y' are so wise, as if ye had eaten
Nothing but brains and marrow of Machiavel:
You tip your speeches with Italian motti,[344]
Spanish refranes,[345] and English quoth he's. Believe me,
There's not a proverb salts your tongue, but plants
Whole colonies of white hairs. O, what a business
These hands must have when you have married me,
To pick out sentences that over-year you!
Lel. Give me but leave.
Sul. Have I a lip? and you
Made sonnets on't? 'tis your fault, for otherwise
Your sister and Eugenio had been sure
Long time ere this.
Lel. But——
Sul. Stay, your cue's not come yet.
I hate as perfectly this grey-green of yours,
As Old Antonio's green-grey. Fie! wise lovers
Are most absurd. Were I not full resolved,
I should begin to cool mine own affection.
For shame, consider well your sister's temper.
Her melancholy may much hurt her. Respect her,
Or, spite of mine own love, I'll make you stay
Six months before you marry me.
[Lelio whispers.
This your so happy news? return'd, and safe?
Antonio yet alive?
[Lelio whispers.
And what then?
[Lelio whispers.
Well; all your business must be compassed
With winding plots and cunning stratagems.
Look to't; for if we be not married ere next morning,
By the great love that's hid in this small compass,
Flavia and myself will steal you both away,
To your eternal shame and foul discredit.
[Exit.
Lel. How prettily this lovely littleness
In one breath pleads her own cause and my sister's!
Chides me, and loves. This is that pleasing temper
I more admire than a continued sweetness
That over-satisfies: 'tis salt I love, not sugar.
[Exit.