Why, is not this better now than
groaning
for love?
Shakespeare
Rom. Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not there
for the goose.
Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not!
Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
Rom. And is it not, then, well serv'd in to a sweet goose?
Mer. O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch
narrow to an ell broad!
Rom. I stretch it out for that word 'broad,' which, added to the
goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.
Mer.
Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art
thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by
art as well as by nature. For this drivelling love is like a
great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in
a hole.
Ben. Stop there, stop there!
Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd! I would have made it short; for I was
come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy
the argument no longer.
Rom. Here's goodly gear!
Enter Nurse and her Man [Peter].
Mer.
