To fan the fire, and blow it to a flame?
Char. How readily do men at ease prescribe
To those who’re sick at heart! distress’d like me,
You would not talk thus.
Byr. Well, well, as you please.
Char. Ha! I see Pamphilus. I can resolve
On any thing, e’er give up all for lost.
Byr. What now?
Char. I will entreat him, beg, beseech him,
Tell him our course of love, and thus, perhaps,