Aris. Your flying fingers need them not.
Ara. More, more!
A thousand hairs, they say, will hold a man.
Aris. Ay, one will do it.
Ara. Merry, my lord? Why not?
Apollo, smile upon us! I know we dream.
See how I make this fast? It is your life
I lengthen.
Aris. O, 'tis bought too preciously!