AMPH. What? Again?
MERC. Was it a feast-day wine?
AMPH. Heavens!
MERC. Was it old or new?
AMPH. What insults!
MERC. New goes to one's head, if drunk without water.
AMPH. Ah! I shall tear your tongue out soon.
MERC. Pass on, my dear friend; believe me, no one here will listen to you. I respect wine. Go away, make yourself scarce, and leave Amphitryon to the pleasures which he is tasting.
AMPH. What! Is Amphitryon in there?
MERC. Rather: covered with the laurels of his fine victory, he is side by side with the lovely Alcmene enjoying the delights of a charming tete-a-tete. They are tasting the pleasures of being reconciled, now their love-tiff has blown over. Take care how you disturb their sweet privacy, unless you wish him to punish you for your excessive rashness.