Antonio. Why not, if you so wish it, sir?
Fabio. What measure will you please to dance?
Celio. But one, a measure in a certain lady's sight,
A single glance, a flash from whose soft eyes,
Would echo in my heart, and seek at once
Fruition on her rosy lip.
Enter Roselo, Anselmo, and Marin, masked.
Anselmo. Here do the maskers seek the air,
And ever here.
Marin. Yes, ever here is language of the dance.
Roselo. Hush, fellow, moderate thy voice!
Anselmo. Already have they danced some rounds,
And now for converse calm seek the cool air.
Roselo. Oh, wondrous beauty! in deed and truth
Thou a Castelvine's heavenly seraph art;
And I since birth have ever schooled been
To hate and curse thee.
Anselmo. Now which of beauty beareth off the palm?
Roselo. She in whose ear yon fellow whispers,
And by her side as 'twere enchanted stands.
Anselmo. Speak, man: enchain her ear thyself.
Roselo. How ugly has Otavio grown!
Anselmo. Roselo, see, thou hast removed thy mask.
Roselo. I heed it not, nor care who sees my face.
Anselmo. Replace it, man, at once, or we—
Roselo. 'Tis most treacherous thus to steal
Within this good man's house, and masked;
I'll face them boldly, as I am.
Anselmo. Come hence; e'en now thou courtest observation.
Roselo. I am, and ever have been from my birth
A careless, wild, and silly fool, a stupid clod of earth.
