Asca. Sleep, sleep, and dream of me, sister:  I’ll make it good, if you dream not too unreasonably.

Luc. Thus dangers in our love make joys more dear; And pleasure’s sweetest when ’tis mixed with fear. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.—­A Dressing-chamber.

  The Masking-habits of LUCRETIA and HIPPOLITA laid in a
  Chair.—­Enter FREDERICK and ASCANIO.

Fred. I never thought I should have loved her.  Is’t come to this, after all my boastings and declarations against it?  Sure I loved her before, and did not know it, till I feared to lose her:  There’s the reason.  I had never desired her, if my father had not.  This is just the longing of a woman:  She never finds the appetite in herself, till she sees the meat on another’s plate.  I’m glad, however, you took the impression of the key; but ’twas not well to fright them.

Asca. Sir, I could not help it; but here’s the effect on’t:  the workman sat up all night to make it. [Gives a key.

Fred. This key will admit me into the seraglio of the godly.  The monastery has begun the war, in sallying out upon the world; and therefore ’tis but just that the world should make reprisals on the monastery.

Asca. Alas, sir, you and Lucretia do but skirmish; ’tis I and Hippolita that make the war:  ’Tis true, opportunity has been wanting for a battle, but the forces have been stoutly drawn up on both sides.  As for your concernment, I come just now from the monastery; and have orders from your Platonic mistress to tell you, she expects you this evening in the garden of the nunnery; withal, she delivered me this letter for you.

Fred. Give it me.

Asca. O, sir, the duke your father!
                       [The Prince takes the letter, and, thinking to
                        put it up hastily, drops it.

Enter Duke.

Duke. Now, Frederick, not abroad yet?

Fred. Your last night’s entertainment left me so weary, sir, that I overslept myself this morning.

Duke. I rather envy you than blame you:  Our sleep is certainly the most pleasant portion of our lives.  For my own part, I spent the night waking and restless.

Fred. Has any thing of moment happened to discompose your highness?

Duke. I’ll confess my follies to you:  I am in love with a lady I saw last night in masquerade.

Fred. ’Tis strange she should conceal herself.

Duke. She has, from my best search; yet I took exact notice of her masking habit, and described it to those whom I employed to find her.

Fred. [Aside.] ’Sdeath, it lies there unremoved, and, if he turns himself, full in his eye.  Now, now, ’twill be discovered.