I know thy love is vigilant o’er my blood,
And fears ill-fate which heaven hath yet withstood.
But be of comfort; sweet Horatio knows
I go to knit friends, not to kindle foes.
Hor. True, madam Bell’-Imperia, that’s his task:
The phrase he useth must be gently styled,
The king hath warned him to be smooth and mild.
Bel. But will you, indeed, Andrea?
And. By this.
Bel. By this lip-blushing kiss.