Julio. [Aside.] My life upon't, I make you. Why, madam, how absurd this is!—yet, 'tis of no consequence, for I know your features, as well as though I saw them.
Oliv. How can that be?
Julio. I judge of what you hide, by what I see—I could draw your picture.
Oliv. Charming! pray begin the portrait.
Julio. Imprimis, a broad high forehead, rounded at the top, like an old-fashioned gateway.
Oliv. Oh, horrid!
Julio. Little gray eyes, a sharp nose, and hair, the colour of rusty prunella.
Oliv. Odious!
Julio. Pale cheeks, thin lips, and——
Oliv. Hold, hold, thou vilifier! [Throws off her veil; he sinks on one knee.] There! yes, kneel in contrition for your malicious libel.