Mercator, or The Merchant (722-748)

Do you wish me to tell you whose she is? She, she— (Aside.) Ah me! upon my faith, I don’t know what to say.

Do you hesitate?

I never saw one who did it more.

But why don’t you tell me?

Nay, but if I may—

You ought to tell me.

I cannot, you hurry me so; you press me as though were guilty.

I know you are free from all guilt.

Speak out as boldly as you please.

Tell me, then.

I, tell you?

Why, it must be told, in spite of everything.

She is— Do you wish me tell her name as well?

You are trifling. I’ve caught you in the fact; you are guilty.

Guilty of what?

If now I had no occasion for silence, now I shouldn’t tell you[*].

Why, this same woman is —

Who is she?

She—

Marry, come up! don’t you know who she is?

Why, yes, I do know. I’ve been chosen as an arbitrator with respect to her.

An arbitrator? Now I know; you have invited her here to consult with you.

Why no; she has been given me as a deposit.

I understand.

By my troth, it’s not anything of that sort.

You are clearing yourself too soon[*].

Too much of a business have I met with; really I’m stuck fast.

Make haste, get quickly on, for I’ve got to cook a dinner for an old gentleman in love. And, in fact, when I think of it again, it’s to be cooked for ourselves, not him for whom we’ve been hired: for a person that’s in love, if he has that with which he is in love, he esteems that as food,

to see her, embrace her, kiss her, chat with her; but we, I trust, shall return well laden home. Step this way. But see, here’s the old gentleman that hired us.

Why, look! I’m undone! here’s the Cook.