PHILO. (_apart_). O beauteous Venus, this is that storm of mine which stripped off all the modesty with which I was roofed; through which Desire and Cupid poured their shower into my breast; and never since have I been able to roof it in. Now are my walls soaking in my heart; this building is utterly undone. PHILE. Do look, my Scapha, there's a dear, whether this dress quite becomes me. I wish to please Philolaches my protector, the apple of my eye. SCA. Nay but, you set yourself off to advantage with pleasing manners, inasmuch as you yourself are pleasing. The lover isn't in love with a woman's dress, but with that which stuffs out [1]the dress. PHILO. (_apart_). So may the Gods bless me, Scapha is waggish; the hussy's quite knowing. How cleverly she understands all matters, the maxims of lovers too! PHILE. Well now? SCA. What is it? PHILE. Why look at me and examine, how this becomes me. SCA. Thanks to your good looks, it happens that whatever you put on becomes you. PHILO. (_apart_). Now then, for that expression, Scapha, I'll make you some present or other to-day, and I won't allow you to have praised her for nothing who is so pleasing to me. PHILE. I don't want you to flatter me. SCA. Really you are a very simple woman. Come now, would you rather be censured undeservedly, than be praised with truth? Upon thy faith, for my own part, even though undeservedly, I'd much rather be praised than be found fault with with reason, or that other people should laugh at my appearance. PHILE. I love the truth; I wish the truth to be told me; I detest a liar. SCA. So may you love me, _and_ so may your Philolaches love you, how charming you are. PHILO. (_apart_). How say you, you hussy? In what words did you adjure? "So may I love her?" Why wasn't "So may she _love_ me" added as well? I revoke the present. What I just now promised you is done for; you have lost the present. SCA. Troth, for my part I am surprised that you, a person so knowing, so clever, and _so_ well educated, are not aware that you are acting foolishly. PHILE. Then give me your advice, I beg, if I have done wrong in anything. SCA. I' faith, you certainly do wrong, in setting your mind upon him alone, in fact, and humouring him in particular in this way and slighting other men. It's the part of a married woman, _and_ not of courtesans, to be devoted to a single lover. PHILO. (_apart_). O Jupiter! Why, what pest is this that has befallen my house? May all the Gods and Goddesses destroy me in the worst of fashions, if I don't kill this old hag with thirst, and hunger, and cold. PHILE. I don't want you, Scapha, to be giving me bad advice. SCA. You are clearly a simpleton, in thinking that he'll for everlasting be your friend and well-wisher. I warn you _of that_; he'll forsake you by reason of age and satiety. PHILE. I hope not.