Calisto. I am a Melibean, I adore Melibea, I believe in Melibea, and I love Melibea.
Sempronio. My Master is all Melibea: whose heart not able to containe her, like a boyling vessell, goes bubbling her name in his mouth. Well, I have now as much as I desire: I know on which foot you halt. I shall heale you.
Calisto. Thou speakest of matters beyond the Moone. It is impossible.
Sempronio. O Sir, exceeding easie; for the first recovery of sicknesse, is the discovery of the disease.... Ha, ha, ha, Calisto’s fire; these, his intolerable paines: as if love shot all his arrowes only against him. O Cupid, how high and unsearchable are thy mysteries! What reward has thou ordained for love, since that so necessary a tribulation attends on lovers? That hast set his bounds, as markes for men to wonder at: Lovers ever deeming that they only are cast behinde; that all men breake thorow but themselves, like your light-footed bulls, which being let loose in the Place, and galled with darts, take over the bars as soone as they feele themselves prickt.
Calisto. Sempronio.
Sempronio. Sir.
Calisto. Doe not you goe away.
Sempronio. This pipe sounds in another tune.
Calisto. What dost thou think of my malady?
Sempronio. Why, that you love Melibea.