Abominable!
Lilian.
Mercy on me! what blubber lips she has!
Mariana, furiously to Firmilian.
You nasty thing! Is this your poetry—
Your high soul-scheming and philosophy?
I hate and loathe you! (To Indiana).—Rival of my shoe,
Go, get thee gone, and hide thee from the day
That loathes thine ebon skin! Firmilian—
You’ll hear of this! My brother serves the king.