Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so?
Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know.
55 Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.
Luc. Gaze [where] you should, and that will clear your sight.
Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.
Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so.
Ant. S. Thy sister’s sister.
Luc.
That’s my sister.