Flo. Bless us! let us be gone, cousin: We two are nothing in his hands.
Cel. Yet, for my part, I can live with as few mistresses as any man. I desire no superfluities; only for necessary change or so, as I shift my linen.
Flo. A pretty odd kind of fellow this; he fits my humour rarely. [Aside.
Fla. You are as inconstant as the moon.
Flo. You wrong him, he’s as constant as the sun; he would see all the world in twenty-four hours.
Cel. ’Tis very true, madam; but, like him, I would visit, and away.
Flo. For what an unreasonable thing it were, to stay long, be troublesome, and hinder a lady of a fresh lover.
Cel. A rare creature this! [Aside]—Besides, madam, how like a fool a man looks, when, after all his eagerness of two minutes before, he shrinks into a faint kiss, and a cold compliment.—Ladies both, into your hands I commit myself; share me betwixt you.
Fla. I’ll have nothing to do with you, since you cannot be constant to one.
Cel. Nay, rather than lose either of you, I’ll do more; I’ll be constant to an hundred of you. Or, if you will needs fetter me to one, agree the matter between yourselves; and the most handsome take me.
Flo. Though I am not she, yet since my mask is down, and you cannot convince me, have a good faith of my beauty, and for once I take you for my servant.
Cel. And for once I’ll make a blind bargain with you. Strike hands; is’t a match, mistress?
Flo. Done, servant.
Cel. Now I am sure I have the worst on’t: For you see the worst of me, and that I do not of you, ’till you shew your face.—Yet, now I think on’t, you must be handsome.
Flo. What kind of beauty do you like?
Cel. Just such a one as yours.
Flo. What’s that?
Cel. Such an oval face, clear skin, hazel eyes, thick brown eye-brows, and hair as you have, for all the world.
Fla. But I can assure you, she has nothing of all this.
Cel. Hold thy peace, envy; nay, I can be constant an I set on’t.
Flo. ’Tis true she tells you.
Cel. Ay, ay, you may slander yourself as you please: Then you have,—let me see.
Flo. Ill swear, you shall not see.
Cel. A turned up nose, that gives an air to your face:—Oh, I find I am more and more in love with you!—a full nether lip, an out-mouth, that makes mine water at it; the bottom of your cheeks a little blub, and two dimples when you smile: For your stature, ’tis well; and for your wit, ’twas given you by one that knew it had been thrown away upon an ill face.—Come, you’re handsome, there’s no denying it.
Flo. Can you settle your spirits to see an ugly face, and not be frighted? I could find in my heart to lift up my mask, and disabuse you.