What luck!
MASC. (_Aside_). Good Heavens! What fine game to shoot flying!
Hist, let me see if I cannot wheedle him a little. I know with what
speeches to soothe him. (_Joining him_). Anselmo I have just
seen....
ANS. Who, prithee?
MASC. Your Nerina.
ANS. What does the cruel fair one say about me?
MASC. Say? that she is passionately fond of you.
ANS. Is she?
MASC. She loves you so that I very much pity her.
ANS. How happy you make me!
MASC. The poor thing is nearly dying with love. "Oh, my dearest
Anselmo," she cries every minute, "when shall marriage unite our two
hearts? When will you vouchsafe to extinguish my flames?"
ANS. But why has she hitherto concealed this from me? Girls, in troth,
are great dissemblers! Mascarille, what do you say, really? Though in
years, yet I look still well enough to please the eye.
MASC. Yes, truly, that face of yours is still very passable; if it is
not of the handsomest in the world, it is very agreeable. [Footnote: The
original has a play on words which cannot be translated, as, _ce
visage est encore fort mettable....,s'il n'est pas des plus beaux, il
est des agreables_; which two last words, according to pronunciation,
can also mean disagreeable.
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