Act 4 — SCENE XIII.

Lel. The hopeful issue of thy counsel, Cricca, Brightens this ev'ning, and makes it more excel The clearest day, than a grey morning doth The blindest midnight, raising my amorous thoughts To such a pitch of joy, that riches, honour, And other pleasures, to Sulpitia's love Appear like mole-hills to the moon. Sul. Lelio! Lel. O, there's the voice that in one note contains All chords of music: how gladly she'll embrace The news I give her and the messenger! Sul. Soft, soft, y' are much mistaken; for in earnest, I am angry, Lelio, and with you. Lel. Sweetest, those flames Rise from the fire of love, and soon will quench I' th' welcome news I bring you. Sul. Stand still, I charge you By th' virtue of my lips; speak not a syllable, As you expect a kiss should close my choler; For I must chide you.

Lel. O my Sulpitia! Were every speech a pistol charg'd with death, I'd stand them all in hope of that condition. Sul. First, sir, I hear you teach Eugenio Too grave a wariness in your sister's love, And kill his honest forwardness of affection With your far-fet[343] respects, suspicions, fears: You have your maybes—"This is dangerous: That course were better; for if so, and yet Who knows? the event is doubtful; be advis'd, 'Tis a young rashness: your father is your father; Take leisure to consider." Thus y' have consider'd Poor Flavia almost to her grave. Fie, Lelio! Had this my smallness undertook the business, And done no more in four short winter's days Than you in four months, I'd have vowed my maidenhead To th' living tomb of a sad nunnery; Which for your sake I loathe. Lel. Sweet, by your favour—— Sul. Peace, peace: now y' are so wise, as if ye had eaten Nothing but brains and marrow of Machiavel: You tip your speeches with Italian motti,[344] Spanish refranes,[345] and English quoth he's. Believe me, There's not a proverb salts your tongue, but plants Whole colonies of white hairs. O, what a business These hands must have when you have married me, To pick out sentences that over-year you!

Sul. Have I a lip? and you Made sonnets on't? 'tis your fault, for otherwise Your sister and Eugenio had been sure Long time ere this. Lel. But—— Sul. Stay, your cue's not come yet. I hate as perfectly this grey-green of yours, As Old Antonio's green-grey. Fie! wise lovers Are most absurd. Were I not full resolved, I should begin to cool mine own affection. For shame, consider well your sister's temper. Her melancholy may much hurt her. Respect her, Or, spite of mine own love, I'll make you stay Six months before you marry me. [Lelio whispers. This your so happy news? return'd, and safe? Antonio yet alive? [Lelio whispers. And what then? [Lelio whispers. Well; all your business must be compassed With winding plots and cunning stratagems. Look to't; for if we be not married ere next morning, By the great love that's hid in this small compass, Flavia and myself will steal you both away, To your eternal shame and foul discredit. [Exit. Lel. How prettily this lovely littleness In one breath pleads her own cause and my sister's! Chides me, and loves. This is that pleasing temper I more admire than a continued sweetness That over-satisfies: 'tis salt I love, not sugar. [Exit.