Sost. I’ll help you choose, my dear Pamphilus; I know who—1570
That clever, charming girl, whom you’ll be in love with directly;
The orphan niece of our old neighbour, Phanocrates.
Pam. What, not that red-haired thing, with a mouth from ear to ear,
And a little knob of a nose. I couldn’t.
Chr.Why, only see
How nice he has grown: it’s plain he means what he says now.
Sost. Why, I’m sure, Pamphilus, she is a pinnacle of perfection.
But I know another.
Pam.No, no; if I am to marry, be hanged!