ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
What is she?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of without he say “sir-reverence”. I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
How dost thou mean a “fat marriage”?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen wench, and all grease, and I know not what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from her by her own light. I warrant her rags and the tallow in them will burn a Poland winter. If she lives till doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer than the whole world.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
What complexion is she of?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Swart like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept. For why? she sweats, a man may go overshoes in the grime of it.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
That’s a fault that water will mend.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
No, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood could not do it.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
What’s her name?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that’s an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.