Asca. Hold, Hippolita, and make no more rash vows: If you do, as I live, you shall not have the key.
Hip. The key! why, have you it, brother?
Luc. He does but mock us. I know you have it not, Ascanio.
Asca. Ecce signum; here it is for you.
Hip. O, sweet brother, let me kiss you.
Asca. Hands off, sweet sister, you must not be forsworn; you vowed you would not think of a man these seven years.
Hip. Aye, brother, but I was not so hasty but I had wit enough to cozen the saint to whom I vowed; for you are but a boy, brother, and will not be a man these seven years.
Luc. But where did you find the key, Ascanio?
Asca. To confess the truth, madam, I stole it out of Hippolita's pocket, to take the print of it in wax; for I'll suppose you'll give my master leave to wait on you in the nunnery-garden, after your abbess has walked the rounds.
Luc. Well, well, good-morrow. When you have slept, come to the grate for a letter to your lord. Now will I have the headach, or the megrim, or some excuse; for I'm resolved I'll not rise to prayers.