Ant. Ev’n so.
Geta. By Hercules, ’tis rare advice.
Are you there with me? will it not be triumph,
So I but ’scape a scouring for your match,
That you must urge me to run risks for him?
Ant. He speaks the truth, I must confess.
Phæd. How’s that?
Am I a stranger to you, Geta?
Geta. No:
Nor do I hold you such. But is it nothing