Luc. Is this a time for raillery?  Oh, sweet heaven! speak comfort quickly; have you found it? [Here ASCANIO slips away.

Hip. Speak you comfort, madam, and tell me you have it, for I am too sure that I have none on’t.

Luc. O, unfortunate that we are! day’s breaking; the handicrafts’ shops begin to open. [Clock strikes.

Hip. The clock strikes two:  Within this half hour we shall be called up to our devotions.  Now, good Ascanio—­Alas, he’s gone too! we are left miserable and forlorn.

Luc. We have not so much as one place in the town for a retreat.

Hip. O, for a miracle in our time of need! that some kind good-natured saint would take us up, and heave us over the wall into our cells.

Luc. Dear sister, pray, for I cannot:  I have been so sinful in leaving my cloister for the world, that I am ashamed to trouble my friends above to help me.

Hip. Alas, sister, with what face can I pray then!  Yours were but little vanities, but I have sinned swingingly against my vow; yes, indeed, sister, I have been very wicked,—­for I wished the ball might be kept perpetually in our cloister, and that half the handsome nuns in it might be turned to men, for the sake of the other.

Luc. Well, if I were free from this disgrace, I would never more set foot beyond the cloister, for the sake of any man.

Hip. And here I vow, if I get safe within my cell, I will not think of man again these seven years.

  Re-enter ASCANIO.

Asca. Hold, Hippolita, and make no more rash vows:  If you do, as I live, you shall not have the key.

Hip. The key! why, have you it, brother?

Luc. He does but mock us.  I know you have it not, Ascanio.

Asca. Ecce signum; here it is for you.

Hip. O, sweet brother, let me kiss you.

Asca. Hands off, sweet sister, you must not be forsworn; you vowed you would not think of a man these seven years.

Hip. Aye, brother, but I was not so hasty but I had wit enough to cozen the saint to whom I vowed; for you are but a boy, brother, and will not be a man these seven years.

Luc. But where did you find the key, Ascanio?

Asca. To confess the truth, madam, I stole it out of Hippolita’s pocket, to take the print of it in wax; for I’ll suppose you’ll give my master leave to wait on you in the nunnery-garden, after your abbess has walked the rounds.

Luc. Well, well, good-morrow.  When you have slept, come to the grate for a letter to your lord.  Now will I have the headach, or the megrim, or some excuse; for I’m resolved I’ll not rise to prayers.

Hip. Pray, brother, take care of our masking-habits, that they may be forthcoming another time.