d not
bleated, I must have you all friends: but first a word with
you, young gallant, and you, lady.

GIU. Well, brother Prospero, by this good light that shines
here, I am loth to kindle fresh coals, but an you had come in
my walk within these two hours I had given you that you should
not have clawed off again in haste, by Jesus, I had done it, I
am the arrant'st rogue that ever breathed else, but now beshrew
my heart if I bear you any malice in the earth.

PROS. Faith, I did it but to hold up a jest, and help my sister
to a husband, but, brother Thorello, and sister, you have a spice
of the jealous yet, both of you, (in your hose, I mean,) come, do
not dwell upon your anger so much, let's all be smooth foreheaded
once again.

THOR. He plays upon my forehead, brother Giuliano, I pray you
tell me one thing I shall ask you: is my forehead any thing
rougher than it was wont to be?

GIU. Rougher? your forehead is smooth enough, man.

THO. Why should he then say, be smooth foreheaded,
Unless he jested at the smoothness of it?
And that may be, for horn is very smooth;
So are my brows, by Jesu, smooth as horn!

BIA. Brother, had he no haunt thither, in good faith?

PROS. No, upon my soul.

BIA. Nay, then, sweet-heart: nay, I pray thee, be not angry,
good faith, I'll never suspect thee any more, nay, kiss me,
sweet muss.

THO. Tell me, Biancha, do not you play the woman with me.

BIA. What's that, sweet-heart?

THO. Dissemble.

BIA. Dissemble?

THO. Nay, do not turn away: but say i'faith was it not a
match appointed 'twixt this old gentleman and you?

BIA. A match?

THO. Nay, if it were not, I do not care: do not weep, I pray
thee, sweet Biancha, nay, so now! by Jesus, I am not jealous,
but resolved I have the faithful'st wife in Italy.
"For this I find, where jealousy is fed,
Horns in the mind are worse than on the head.
See what a drove of horns fly in the air,
Wing'd with my cleansed and my credulous breath:
Watch them, suspicious eyes, watch where they fall,
See, see, on heads that think they have none at all.
Oh, what a plenteous world of this will come,
When air rains horns, all men be sure of some:

CLEM. Why that's well, come then: what say you, are all
agreed? doth none stand out?

PROS. None but this gentleman: to whom in my own person