[033] Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
I am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,
[034] For I am much ashamed of my exchange:
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.
040 Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
[041] Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.