Dimsdell. Methinks, the wine is richer than is common.
Roger. Thirst always gives an added age to wine.
This is right Xeres. Hast been in Spain?
Dimsdell. Nay, but the wine hath. I feel its warmth.
Roger. Truly, it is a grand inquisitor;
'Twill search each petty heresy that taints
Thy blood, and burn it to a cinder.
Dimsdell. How many leagues it came to serve my need.
Roger. Aye, a thousand, and a thousand more!
Dimsdell. I would not go so far for it just now,
For through my limbs there creeps a lang'rous ease
Like that which doth precede deep slumber.
Roger. Rest here upon this bench.
[Dimsdell sits, half reclining.