Moc. Marry, sir, this. You brought me once into a paradise of pleasure and expectation of much comfort; my request therefore is, that you would no longer defer what then you so liberally promised.
Lor. How do you mean?
Moc. Why, sir, in joining that beauteous lady, your daughter, and myself in the firm bonds of matrimony; for I am somewhat impatient of delay in this kind, and indeed the height of my blood requires it.
Luc. Are you so hot? I shall give you a card to cool you[358] presently. [Aside.
Lor. 'Tis an honest and a virtuous demand, and on all sides an action of great consequence; and, for my part, there's not a thing in the world I could wish sooner accomplished.
Moc. Thank you, sir.
Lor. There's another branch of policy, besides the coupling of you together, which springs from the fruitfulness of my brain, that I as much labour to bring to perfection as the other.
Moc. What's that, sir?
Lor. A device upon the same occasion, but with a different respect; 'tis to be imposed upon Petrucio. I hate to differ so much from the nature of an Italian, as not to be revengeful; and the occasion at this time was, he scorned the love of her, that you now so studiously affect; but I'll fit him in his kind.
Moc. Did he so? He deserves to have both his eyes struck as blind as Cupid's, his master, that should have taught him better manners. But how will you do it?