Cel. And young Sabina, so sweet an innocence, such a rose-bud newly blown. This is my goodly palace of love, and that my little withdrawing room. A word, madam.—[To SAB.
Olin. I like not this—[Aside.] Sir, if you are not too busy with my sister, I would speak with you.
Cel. I come, madam.
Sab. Time enough, sir; pray finish your discourse—and as you were a saying, sir,—
Olin. Sweet sir,—
Sab. Sister, you forget, my mother bid you make haste.
Olin. Well, go you, and tell her I am coming.
Sab. I can never endure to be the messenger of ill news; but, if you please, I'll send her word you won't come.
Olin. Minion, minion, remember this—[Exit OLIN.
Sab. She's horribly in love with you.