Gallathea. I would salute him, but I fear I should make a curtsey instead of a leg.
Phillida. If I durst trust my face as well as I do my habit I would spend some time to make pastime, for say what they will of a man's wit, it is no second thing to be a woman.
Gallathea. All the blood in my body would be in my face if he should ask me (as the question among men is common), 'Are you a maid?'
Phillida. Why stand I still? Boys should be bold. But here cometh a brave train that will spill all our talk.
[Enter Diana, &c.]
(2)
[Gallathea and Phillida endeavour to sound the affection of each other, but only succeed in raising disturbing doubts.]
Phillida. Suppose I were a virgin (I blush in supposing myself one) and that under the habit of a boy were the person of a maid, if I should utter my affection with sighs, manifest my sweet love by my salt tears, and prove my loyalty unspotted and my griefs intolerable, would not then that fair face pity this true heart?
Gallathea. Admit that I were as you would have me suppose that you are, and that I should with entreaties, prayers, oaths, bribes, and whatever can be invented in love, desire your favour,—would you not yield?
Phillida. Tush! you come in with 'admit'!