"Dromio of Syracuse: ... I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. Antipholus of Syracuse: How dost thou mean a “fat marriage”? Dromio of Syracuse: Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen wench, and all grease, and I know not what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from her by her own light. I warrant her rags and the tallow in them will burn a Poland winter. If she lives till doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer than the whole world. Antipholus of Syracuse: What complexion is she of? Dromio of Syracuse: Swart like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept. For why? she sweats, a man may go overshoes in the grime of it. Antipholus of Syracuse: That’s a fault that water will mend. Dromio of Syracuse: No, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood could not do it. Antipholus of Syracuse: What’s her name? Dromio of Syracuse: Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that’s an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. Antipholus of Syracuse: Then she bears some breadth? Dromio of Syracuse: No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip. She is spherical, like a globe. I could find out countries in her."