And yet this is not all: I know you are too hot,
Too full of spleen for an embassador,
And will lean much to honour.
And. Pish![291]
Bel. Nay, hear me, dear! I know you will be rough
And violent; and Portugal hath a tempestuous son,
Stamp’d with the mark of fury, and you too.
And. Sweet Bell’-Imperia!
Bel. You’ll[292] meet like thunder, each imperious
Over other’s spleen; you have both proud spirits,