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Jes.

Who are you? tell me for more certainty,

Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.

Lor.

Lorenzo, and thy love.

Jes.

Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,

For who love I so much? And now who knows

But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

Lor.

Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

Jes.

Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains.

I am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,

For I am much asham’d 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.

Lor.

Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.

Jes.

What, must I hold a candle to my shames?

They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.

Why, ’tis an office of discovery, love,

And I should be obscur’d.

Lor.

So are you, sweet,

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.

But come at once,

For the close night doth play the runaway,

And we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast.

Jes.

I will make fast the doors, and gild myself