Cel.

You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Ros.

O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love; but it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.

Cel.

O rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in it, it runs out.

&plquo;Ros.

&plquo;No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love; I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando; I'll go find a shadow, and sigh 'till he come.&prquo;

Cel.

And I'll sleep.