Zeo. (horror-struck).Away, and touch me not!
Phil. What? Has my earnestness offended you,
Or do you fear that my impassioned speech
Is over-colored? Trust me, Zeolide,
If it be over-charged with clumsy love,
Or teem with ill-selected metaphor,
It is because my soul is not content
To waste its time in seeking precious stones,
When paste will answer every end as well!
Zeo. Why, Philamir, dare you say this to me?