YOUNG GIRL. Ah! shame on your painted cheeks!
FIRST OLD WOMAN. Why do you speak to me at all?
YOUNG GIRL. And why do you place yourself at the window?
FIRST OLD WOMAN. I am singing to myself about my lover, Epigenes.
YOUNG GIRL. Can you have any other lover than that old fop Geres?
FIRST OLD WOMAN. Epigenes will show you that himself, for he is coming to me. See, here he is.
YOUNG GIRL. He's not thinking of you in the least, you old witch.
FIRST OLD WOMAN. Aye, but he is, you little pest.
YOUNG GIRL. Let's see what he will do. I will leave my window.
FIRST OLD WOMAN. And I likewise. You will see I am not far wrong.