For many days; these dates, you see, are ripe.

FRIAR.

Be sparing of that fruit, sir, for too much

Is hurtful, sours the blood, and makes one sad.

TEMPLAR.

And what if sadness suits me? Though, methinks,

'Twas not to give this warning that you came.

FRIAR.

Oh, no! my mission was to question you--

To feel your pulse a little.