Pop.There’s now no choice.
Oth. A light excuse would serve: a sudden sickness,
A cold, a headache. Do not go.
Pop.Why, look!1240
If you are not jealous, Otho! jealous, jealous.
You see not straight.
Oth.I see you smile on Cæsar.
Pop. And think you, then, I must have turned my love
Where I have smiled? that I would play you false
For the pleasure of it?