a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our
hands.
Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device.
Sir And. I have 't in my nose too.
155
Sir To. He shall think, by the [letters] that thou wilt
drop, that [they come] from my niece, and that [she's] in love
with him.
Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
[Sir And.] And your horse now would make him an ass.