Simo. A breach so wide as gives me hopes
To sep’rate them forever.
Chremes. Idle tales!
Simo. Indeed ’tis thus.
Chremes. Aye marry, thus it is.
Quarrels of lovers but renew their love.
Simo. Prevent we then, I pray, this mischief now;
While time permits, while yet his passion’s sore
From contumelies; ere these women’s wiles,
Their wicked arts, and tears made up of fraud