Sul. Peace, peace: now y' are so wise, as if ye had eaten
Nothing but brains and marrow of Machiavel:
You tip your speeches with Italian motti,[344]
Spanish refranes,[345] and English quoth he's. Believe me,
There's not a proverb salts your tongue, but plants
Whole colonies of white hairs. O, what a business
These hands must have when you have married me,
To pick out sentences that over-year you!
Lel. Give me but leave.
Sul. Have I a lip? and you
Made sonnets on't? 'tis your fault, for otherwise
Your sister and Eugenio had been sure
Long time ere this.
Lel. But——
Sul. Stay, your cue's not come yet.
I hate as perfectly this grey-green of yours,
As Old Antonio's green-grey. Fie! wise lovers
Are most absurd. Were I not full resolved,
I should begin to cool mine own affection.
For shame, consider well your sister's temper.
Her melancholy may much hurt her. Respect her,
Or, spite of mine own love, I'll make you stay
Six months before you marry me.
[Lelio whispers.
This your so happy news? return'd, and safe?
Antonio yet alive?
[Lelio whispers.
And what then?
[Lelio whispers.
Well; all your business must be compassed
With winding plots and cunning stratagems.
Look to't; for if we be not married ere next morning,
By the great love that's hid in this small compass,
Flavia and myself will steal you both away,
To your eternal shame and foul discredit.
[Exit.
Lel. How prettily this lovely littleness
In one breath pleads her own cause and my sister's!
Chides me, and loves. This is that pleasing temper
I more admire than a continued sweetness
That over-satisfies: 'tis salt I love, not sugar.
[Exit.