Ternissa. Mightily. [Aside.] I wish it may break in pieces on the road.
Epicurus. What did you say?
Ternissa. I wish it were now on the road, that I might try whether it would hold me—I mean with my clothes on.
Epicurus. It would hold you, and one a span longer. I have another in the house; but it is not decorated with fauns and satyrs and foliage, like this.
Leontion. I remember putting my hand upon the frightful satyr’s head, to leap in: it seems made for the purpose. But the sculptor needed not to place the naiad quite so near—he must have been a very impudent man; it is impossible to look for a moment at such a piece of workmanship.
Ternissa. For shame! Leontion!—why, what was it? I do not desire to know.
Epicurus. I don’t remember it.
Leontion. Nor I neither; only the head.
Epicurus. I shall place the satyr toward the rock, that you may never see him, Ternissa.
Ternissa. Very right; he cannot turn round.