Merc. All this notwithstanding, I must tell you, pretty Phædra, I am desperately in love with you.
Phæd. And I must tell thee, ugly Sosia, thou hast not wherewithal to be in love.
Merc. Yes, a poor man may be in love, I hope.
Phæd. I grant a poor rogue may be in love, but he can never make love. Alas, Sosia, thou hast neither face to invite me, nor youth to please me, nor gold to bribe me; and, besides all this, thou hast a wife, poor miserable Sosia!—What, ho, Bromia!
Merc. O thou merciless creature, why dost thou conjure up that sprite of a wife?
Phæd. To rid myself of that devil of a poor lover. Since you are so lovingly disposed, I'll put you together to exercise your fury upon your own wedlock.—What, Bromia, I say, make haste; here is a vessel of yours, full freighted, that is going off without paying duties.
Merc. Since thou wilt not let me steal custom, she shall have all the cargo I have gotten in the wars; but thou mightst have lent me a little creek, to smuggle in.
Phæd. Why, what have you gotten, good gentleman soldier, besides a legion of—— [Snaps her fingers.
Merc. When the enemy was routed, I had the plundering of a tent.
Phæd. That is to say, a house of canvas, with moveables of straw.—Make haste, Bromia!——