your
matins.

_Luc._ Fye, friend, these extravagancies are a breach of articles in
our friendship. But well, for once, I'll venture to go out: Dancing
and singing are but petty transgressions.

_Asca._ My lord, here is company approaching; we shall be discovered.

_Fred._ Adieu, then, _jusqu' a revoir_; Ascanio shall be with you
immediately, to conduct you.

_Asca._ How will you disguise, sister? Will you be a man or a woman?

_Hip._ A woman, brother page, for life: I should have the strangest
thoughts if I once wore breeches.

_Asca._ A woman, say you? Here is my hand, if I meet you in place
convenient, I'll do my best to make you one. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.

_Cam._ But why thus melancholy, with hat pulled down, and the hand on
the region of the heart, just the reverse of my friend Aurelian, of
happy memory?

_Aur._ Faith, Camillo, I am ashamed of it, but cannot help it.

_Cam._ But to be in love with a waiting-woman! with an eater of
fragments, a simperer at lower end of a table, with mighty golls,
rough-grained, and red with starching, those discouragers and abaters
of elevated love!

_Aur._ I could love deformity itself, with that good humour. She, who
is armed with gaiety and wit, needs no other weapon to conquer me.

_Cam._ We lovers are the great creators of wit in our mistresses. For
Beatrix, she is a mere utterer of yes and no, and has no more sense
than what will just dignify her to be an arrant waiting-woman; that
is, to lie for her lady, and take your money.

_Aur._ It may be, then, I found her in the exaltation of her wit; for
certainly women have their good and ill days of talking, as they have
of looking.

_Cam._ But, however, she has done you the courtesy to drive out Laura;
and so one poison has expelled the other.

_Aur._ Troth, not absolutely neither; for I dote on Laura's beauty,
and on Beatrix's wit: I am wounded with a forked arrow, which will not
easily be got out.

_Cam._ Not to lose time in fruitless complaints, let us pursue our new
contrivance, that you may see your two mistresses, and I my one.

_Aur._ That will not now be difficult: This plot's so laid, that I
defy the devil to make it miss. The woman of the house, by which they
are to pass to church, is bribed; the ladies are by her acquainted
with the design; and we need only to be there before them, and expect
the prey, which will undoubtedly fall into the net.

_Cam._ Your man