Fiction, or gross pretence, shall out at once.
The truths I hear, I will conceal; whate’er
Is false, or vain, or feign’d, I’ll publish it.
I’m full of chinks, and run through here and there:
So if you claim my secrecy, speak truth.
Thais. My mother was a Samian, liv’d at Rhodes.
Par. This sleeps in silence. (Archly.)
Thais. There a certain merchant
Made her a present of a little girl,
Stol’n hence from Attica.