For I begin to doubt that word and deed
Are wasted all in vain.
Celio. How so, my lord?
Prince. Why, if I never am to see Porcia,
Whom I have come so far and fast to see—
Cel. Never, my lord! her father’s guest is ill,
And she for a few minutes—
Prince. Minutes, Celio!
Knowest thou not minutes are years to lovers?
Cel. I know that lovers are strange animals.