SCA. Nay but, you set yourself off to advantage with pleasing manners, inasmuch as you yourself are pleasing. The lover isn't in love with a woman's dress, but with that which stuffs out {1}the dress.
PHILO. (apart). So may the Gods bless me, Scapha is waggish; the hussy's quite knowing. How cleverly she understands all matters, the maxims of lovers too!
PHILE. Well now? SCA. What is it?
PHILE. Why look at me and examine, how this becomes me.
SCA. Thanks to your good looks, it happens that whatever you put on becomes you.
PHILO. (apart). Now then, for that expression, Scapha, I'll make you some present or other to-day, and I won't allow you to have praised her for nothing who is so pleasing to me.
PHILE. I don't want you to flatter me.
SCA. Really you are a very simple woman. Come now, would you rather be censured undeservedly, than be praised with truth? Upon thy faith, for my own part, even though undeservedly, I'd much rather be praised than be found fault with with reason, or that other people should laugh at my appearance.
PHILE. I love the truth; I wish the truth to be told me; I detest a liar.
SCA. So may you love me, and so may your Philolaches love you, how charming you are.