Lio. What's that, sir?
Lor. 'Tis concerning the boy you placed with me.
Lio. Ay, what of him?
Lor. Whether it were an enchantment or no, or an illusion of the sight, or if I could persuade myself it was a dream, 'twere better; but my imagination so persuaded me, that I heard my wife and him interchanging amorous discourse together. To what an extremity of passion the frailty of man's nature might induce me to!
Lio. Very good.
Lor. Not very good, neither; but, after the expense of so much anger and distraction, my wife comes upon me again, and affirms that he is no boy, but a disguised mistress of my own, and upon this swells against me, as if she had lain all night in the leaven.
Æmi. Have not I reason?
Lor. Pray, sir, will you inform us of the verity of his sex.
Lio. Then take it upon my word, 'tis a woman.
Æmi. Now, sir, what have you to answer?