Alv. I thank you: what is the matter, I do not know; but tho' it is of the utmost consequence to me to marry my son, what match soever I propose to him, he still finds some pretence or other to decline it.
Metaph. He is, perhaps, of the humour of a brother of Marcus Tullius, who——
Alv. Dear master, leave the Greeks, and the Latins, and the Scotch, and the Welsh, and let me go on in my business; what have those people to do with my son's marriage?
Metaph. Again you are wrong; but go on.
Alv. I say then, that I have strong apprehensions from his refusing all my proposals, that he may have some secret inclination of his own; and to confirm me in this fear, I yesterday observed him (without his knowing it) in a corner of the grove, where nobody comes——
Metaph. A place out of the way, you would say; a place of retreat.
Alv. Why, the corner of the grove, where nobody comes, is a place of retreat, is it not?
Metaph. In Latin, secessus.
Alv. Ha!
Metaph. As Virgil has it. Est in secessu locus.