The pretty thing is dumb.
Mat. The pretty thing
You see within the glass, is you.
Em. What! am I two? Is this another me?
Indeed it wears my clothes, has hands like mine,
And mocks whate'er I do; but that I'm sure
I am a maid, I'd swear it were my child. [Matilda looks.
Look, my Matilda: We both are in the glass.
Oh, now I know it plain; they are our names,
That peep upon us there.