YOUNG MAN (_standing beneath the young girl's window and singing_).[716] Come down and haste to open the door unless you want to see me fall dead with desire. Dearest treasure, I am burning to yield myself to most voluptuous sport, lying on your bosom, to let my hands play with your buttocks. Aphrodité, why dost thou fire me with such delight in her? Oh! Eros, I beseech thee, have mercy and make her share my couch. Words cannot express the tortures I am suffering. Oh! my adored one, I adjure you, open your door for me and press me to your heart; 'tis for you that I am suffering. Oh! my jewel, my idol, you child of Aphrodité, the confidante of the Muses, the sister of the Graces, you living picture of Voluptuousness, oh! open for me, press me to your heart, 'tis for you that I am suffering. FIRST OLD WOMAN. Are you knocking? Is it I you seek? YOUNG MAN. What an idea! FIRST OLD WOMAN. But you were tapping at the door. YOUNG MAN. Death would be sweeter. FIRST OLD WOMAN. Why do you come with that torch in your hand? YOUNG MAN. I am looking for a man from Anaphlystia.[717] FIRST OLD WOMAN. What's his name? YOUNG MAN. Oh! 'tis not Sebinus,[718] whom no doubt you are expecting. FIRST OLD WOMAN. By Aphrodité, you _must_, whether you like it or not. YOUNG MAN. We are not now concerned with cases dated sixty years back; they are remanded for a later day; we are dealing only with those of less than twenty.[719] FIRST OLD WOMAN. That was under the old order of things, sweetheart, but now you must first busy yourself with us. YOUNG MAN. Aye, _if I want to_, according to the rules of draughts, where we may either take or leave. FIRST OLD WOMAN. But 'tis not according to the rules of draughts that you take your seat at the banquet.[720] YOUNG MAN. I don't know what you mean; 'tis at this door I want to knock. FIRST OLD WOMAN. Not before knocking at mine first. YOUNG MAN. For the moment I really have no need for old leather. FIRST OLD WOMAN. I know that you love me; perhaps you are surprised to find me at the door. But come, let me kiss you. YOUNG MAN. No, no, my dear, I am afraid of your lover. FIRST OLD WOMAN. Of whom? YOUNG MAN. The most gifted of painters. FIRST OLD WOMAN. Why, whom do you mean to speak of? YOUNG MAN. The artist who paints the little bottles on coffins.[721] But get you indoors, lest he should find you at the door. FIRST OLD WOMAN. I know what you want. YOUNG MAN. I can say as much of you. FIRST OLD WOMAN. By Aphrodité, who has granted me this good chance, I won't let you go. YOUNG MAN. You are drivelling, you little old hag. FIRST OLD WOMAN. Rubbish! I am going to lead you to my couch. YOUNG MAN. What need for buying hooks? I will let her down to the bottom of the well and pull up the buckets with her old carcase, for she's crooked enough for that. FIRST OLD WOMAN. A truce to your jeering, poor boy, and follow me.