Violetta, my love!

_Vio._ My dear Camillo!

_Cam._ Speak those words again; my own name never sounded so sweetly
to me, as when you spoke it, and made me happy by adding _dear_ to it.

_Vio._ Speak softly then; I have stolen these few minutes from my
watchful uncle and my sister, and they are as full of danger as they
are of love. Something within me checks me too, and says, I was too
forward in venturing thus to meet you.

_Cam._ You are too fearful rather; and fear's the greatest enemy to
love.

_Vio._ But night will hide my blushes, when I tell you, I love you
much, or I had never trusted my virtue and my person in your hands.

_Cam._ The one is sacred, and the other safe; but this auspicious
minute is our first of near converse. May I not hope that favour,
which strangers, in civility, may claim, even from the most reserved?
[_Kisses her hand._

_Vio._ I fear you'll censure me.

_Cam._ Yes, as the blest above tax heaven for making them so happy.
[_They walk further off._

_Aur._ [_Stepping towards_ LAURA.] Damsel of darkness, advance, and
meet my flames!

_Lau._ [_Stepping forward._] Right trusty valet, heard, but yet
unseen, I have advanced one step on reputation.

_Aur._ Now, by laudable custom, I am to love thee vehemently.

_Lau._ We should do well to see each other first: You know 'tis ill
taking money without light.

_Aur._ O, but the coin of love is known by the weight only, and you
may feel it in the dark: Besides, you know 'tis prince-like to love
without seeing.

_Lau._ But then you may be served as princes are sometimes.

_Aur._ Let us make haste, however, and despatch a little love out of
the way: We may do it now with ease, and save ourselves a great deal
of trouble, if we take it in time, before it grows too fast upon our
hands.

_Lau._ Fye, no; let us love discreetly: we must manage our passion,
and not love all our love out at one meeting, but leave some for
another time.

_Aur._ I am for applying the plaster while the wound is green; 'twill
heal the better. [_Takes her by the hand._

_Lau._ Let go my hand! What crime has the poor wretch committed, that
you press it thus? I remember no mischief it has done you.

_Aur._ O, 'tis a heinous malefactor, and is pressed by law, because it
will confess nothing. Come, withdraw a little farther, we have urgent
bu