Trin. Why, now she knows my meaning, let it work. She put up the fruit in her lap, and threw away the basket: 'tis a plain sign she abhors the words, and embraces the meaning.
O lips, no lips,[276] but leaves besmear'd' with mildew!
O dew, no dew, but drops of honey-combs!
O combs, no combs, but fountains full of tears!
O tears, no tears, but——
SCENE II.
Pandolfo, Trincalo.
Pan. Cricca denies me: no persuasions,
Proffers, rewards, can work him to transform.
Yonder's my country farmer Trincalo.
Never in fitter time, good Trincalo.
Trin. Like a lean horse t' a fresh and lusty pasture.
Pan. What rent dost pay me for thy farm at Totnam?
Trin. Ten pound, and find it too dear a pennyworth.
Pan. My hand here. Take it rent-free for three lives,
To serve me in a business I'll employ thee.