BELIN. My denial is premeditated like your malice. Lard, cousin, you talk oddly. Whatever the matter is, O my Sol, I’m afraid you’ll follow evil courses.
ARAM. Ha, ha, ha, this is pleasant.
BELIN. You may laugh, but—
ARAM. Ha, ha, ha!
BELIN. You think the malicious grin becomes you. The devil take Bellmour. Why do you tell me of him?
ARAM. Oh, is it come out? Now you are angry, I am sure you love him. I tell nobody else, cousin. I have not betrayed you yet.
BELIN. Prithee tell it all the world; it’s false.
ARAM. Come, then, kiss and friends.
BELIN. Pish.
ARAM. Prithee don’t be so peevish.