_Hip._ O my dear sister, never refuse it; I keep the keys, you know: I'll warrant you we will return before we are missed. I do so long to have one fling into the sweet world again, before I die. Hang it, at worst, it is but one sin more, and then we will repent for all together. _Asca._ But if I catch you in the world, sister, I'll make you have a better opinion of the flesh and the devil for ever after. _Luc._ If it were known, I were lost for ever. _Fred._ How should it be known? You have her on your side, there, that keeps the keys: And, put the worst, that you are taken in the world, the world is a good world to stay in; and there are certain occasions of waking in a morning, that may be more pleasant to you than 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.