Syrus. He fears. I hinted Cyprus. There’s the rub.
Syrus. He fears. I’ve thrown a small rub in his way. (Aside.)
San. (to himself.) Confusion! they have nick’d me to a hair!
I’ve bought up sev’ral slaves, and other wares,
For exportation; and to miss my time
At Cyprus-fair would be a heavy loss.
Then if I leave this business broken thus,
All’s over with me; and at my return
’Twill come to nothing, grown quite cold and stale.
“—What! come at last?—Why did you stay so long?