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.