University of Virginia Library

Act. 4.

Scæn. 1.

Enter Brancha attended by two Ladies.
Bran.
How goin' your Watches Ladies? what's a clock now?

1 Lady.
By mine full nine.

2 Lady.
By mine a quarter past.

1 Lady.
I set mine by St. Marks.

2 Lady.
St. Anthonies they say goes truer.

1 Lady.
That's but your opinion Madam,
Because you love a Gentleman o'th' name.

2 Lady.
He's a true Gentleman then.

1 Lady.
So may he be
That comes to me to night, for ought you know:

Bran.
I'll end this strife straight: I set mine by the Sun,
I love to set by th'best, one shall not then
Be troubled to set often:

2 Lady.
You do wisely in't.

Bran.
If I should set my Watch as some Girls do
By ev'ry clock i'th' Town, 'twould nev'r go true;
And too much turning of the Dials point,
Or tampring with the Spring, might in small time
Spoil the whole work too, here it wants of nine now.

1 Lady.
It does indeed forsooth; mine's nearest truth yet.

2 Lady.
Yet I have found her lying with an Advocate, which shew'd
Like two false clocks together in one Parish.

Bran.
So now I thank you Ladies, I desire
A while to be alone.

1 Lady.
And I am no body,
Methinks, unless I have one or other with me.
Faith my desire and hers, will nev'r be sisters.

Exit Ladies.
Bran.
How strangely womans fortune comes about,
This was the farthest way to come to me,
All would have judg'd, that knew me born in Venice
And there with many jealous eyes brought up,
That never thought they had me sure enough;
But when they were upon me, yet my hap
To meet it here, so far off from my birth-place,
My friends, or kinred, 'tis not good in sadness,
To keep a maid so strict in her yong days,
Restraint breeds wand'ring thoughts, as many fasting days
A great desire to see flesh stirring again:
I'll nev'r use any Girl of mine so strictly,
How ev'r they're kept, their fortunes finde 'em out,
I see't in me, if they be got in Court,
I'll never forbid 'em the Country, nor the Court,
Though they be born i'ch' Countrey, they will come to't,
And fetch their falls a thousand mile about,
Where one would little think on't.

Enter Leantio.
Lean.
I long to see how my despiser looks,
Now she's come here to Court; these are her lodgings,
She's simply now advanc'd: I took her out
Of no such window, I remember first,
That was a great deal lower, and less carv'd.

Bran.
How now? What Silk-worm's this, i'ch' name of pride,
What, is it he?

Lean.
A bowe i'th' ham to your greatness;
You must have now three legs, I take it, must you not?

Bran.
Then I must take another, I shall want else
The service I should have; you have but two there.

Lean.
Y'are richly plac'd.

Bran.
Methinks y'are wond'rous brave Sir.

Lean.
A sumptuous lodging.

Bran.
Y'ave an excellent Suit there.

Lean.
A Chair of Velvet.

Bran.
Is your cloak lin'd through Sir.

Lean.
Y'are very stately here.

Bran.
Faith something proud Sir.

Lean.
Stay, stay, let's see your Cloth of silver Slippers?

Bran.
Who's your Shoomaker, h'as made you a neat Boot.

Lean.
Will you have a pair,
The Duke will lend you Spurs.

Bran.
Yes, when I ride.

Lean.
'Tis a brave life you lead.

Bran.
I could nev'r see you
In such good clothes in my time.

Lean.
In your time?

Bran.
Sure I think Sir
We both thrive best asunder.

Lean.
Y'are a whore.

Bran.
Fear nothing Sir.

Lean.
An impudent spightful strumpet.

Bran.
Oh Sir, you give me thanks for your Captainship;
I thought you had forgot all your good manners.

Lean.
And to spight thee as much, look there, there read,
Vex, gnaw, thou shalt finde there I am not lovestarv'd.
The world was never yet so cold, or pitiless,
But there was ever still more charity found out,
Then at one proud fools door; and 'twere hard 'faith,
If I could not pass that: Read to thy shame there;
A cheerful and a beauteous Benefactor too,
As ev'r erected the good works of love.

Bran.
Lady Livia!
Is't possible? Her worship was my Pandress,
She dote, and send and give, and all to him!
Why here's a Baud plagu'd home; y'are simply happy Sir,
Yet I'll not envy you.

Lean.
No Court-Saint, not thou!
You keep some friend of a new fashion;
There's no harm in your Devil, he's a suckling,
But he will breed teeth shortly, will he not?

Bran.
Take heed you play not then too long with him.

Lean.
Yes, and the great one too: I shall finde time
To play a hot religious bout with some of you,
And perhaps drive you and your course of sins
To their eternal Kennels; I speak softly now,
'Tis manners in a noble Womans lodgings,
And I well knew all my degrees of duty.
But come I to your everlasting parting once,
Thunder shall seem soft musick to that tempest.

Bran.
'Twas said last week there would be change of weather,
When the Moon hung so, and belike you heard it.

Lean.
Why here's sin made, and nev'r a conscience put to't;
A Monster with all Forehead, and no Eyes.
Why do I talk to thee of Sense or Vertue,
That art as dark as death? and as much madness
To set light before thee, as to lead blinde folks
To see the Monuments, which they may smell as soon
As they behold; Marry oft-times their heads
For want of light, may feel the hardness of 'em.
So shall thy blinde pride my revenge and anger,
That canst not see it now; and it may fall
At such an hour, when thou least seest of all;
So to an ignorance darker then thy womb,
I leave thy perjur'd soul: A plague will come.

Exit:
Bran.
Get you gone first, and then I fear no greater,
Nor thee will I fear long; I'll have this sauciness
Soon banish'd from these lodgings, and the rooms
Perfum'd well after the corrupt air it leaves:
His breath has made me almost sick in troth,
A poor base start up! Life! because has got
Fair clothes by foul means, comes to rail, and shew 'em.

Enter the Duke.
Duke.
Who's that?

Bran.
Cry you mercy Sir.

Duke.
Prethee who's that?

Bran.
The former thing my Lord, to whom you gave
The Captainship; he eats his meat with grudging still.

Duke.
Still!

Bran.
He comes vaunting here of his new love,
And the new clothes she gave him; Lady Livia.
Who but she now his Mistress?

Duke.
Lady Livia?
Be sure of what you say.

Bran.
He shew'd me her name Sir,
In perfum'd Paper, her Vows, her Letter,
With an intent to spight me; so his heart said,
And his threats made it good; they were as spightful
As ever malice utter'd, and as dangerous,
Should his hand follow the copy.

Duke.
But that must not;
Do not you vex your minde, prethee to Bed, go
All shall be well and quiet.

Bran.
I love peace Sir.

Exit.
Duke.
And so do all that love; take you no care for't,
It shall be still provided to your hand: Who's near us there.

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
My Lord.

Duke.
Seek out Hippolito,
Brother to Lady Livia, with all speed.

Mess.
He was the last man I saw, my Lord.

Exit.
Duke.
Make haste.
He is a blood soon stir'd, and as he's quick
To apprehend a wrong, he's bold, and sudden
In bringing forth a ruine: I know likewise
The reputation of his Sisters honor:
As dear to him as life-blood to his heart;
Beside I'll flatter him with a goodness to her,
Which I now thought on, but nev'r meant to practise.
(Because I know her base) and that wind drives him.
The ulcerous reputation feels the poyse,
If lightest wrongs, as sores are vext with flies:
He comes, Hippolito welcome.

Enter Hippolito.
Hip.
My lov'd Lord.

Duke.
How does that lusty Widow, thy kinde Sister;
Is she not sped yet of a second husband?
A bed-fellow she has, I ask not that,
I know she's sped of him.

Hip.
Of him my Lord:

Duke.
Yes of a bed-fellow; is the news so strange to you?

Hip.
I hope 'tis so to all.

Duke.
I wish it were Sir;
But 'tis confest too fast, her ignorant pleasures
Onely by Lust instructed, have receiv'd
Into their services, an impudent Boaster,
One that does raise his glory from her shame,
And tells the midday Sun, what's done in darkness;
Yet blinded with her appetite, wastes her wealth,
Buys her disgraces at a dearer rate,
Then bounteous house-keepers purchase their honor.
Nothing sads me so much, as that in love
To thee, and to thy blood, I had pickt out
A worthy match for her, the great Vincentio,
High in our favor, and in all mens thoughts.

Hip.
Oh thou destruction of all happy fortunes,
Unsated blood! know you the name my Lord
Of her abuser?

Duke.
One Leantio.

Hip.
He's a Factor.

Duke.
He nev'r made so brave a voyage by his own talk.

Hip.
The poor old widows son;
I humbly take my leave.

Duke.
I see 'tis done:
Give her good counsel, make her see her error,
I know she'll hearken to you.

Hip.
Yes my Lord,
I make no doubt, as I shall take the course,
Which she shall never know till it be acted;
And when she wakes to honor, then she'll thank me for't.
I'll imitate the pities of old Surgeons
To this loft limb, who ere they show their art,
Cast one asleep, then cut the diseas'd part.
So out of love to her I pity most,
She shall not feel him going till he's lost,
Then she'll commend the cure.

Exit.
Duke.
The great cure's past;
I count this done already; his wrath's sure,
And speaks an injury deep; farewel Leantio.
This place will never hear thee murmur more.
Our noble Brother welcome!

Enter Lord Cardinal attended.
Card.
Set those lights down:
Depart till you be called.

Duke.
There's serious business
Fixed in his look, nay, it enclines a little
To the dark colour of a discontentment.
Brother, what is't commands your eye so powerfully?
Speak, you seem lost.

Card.
The thing I look on seems so
To my eyes lost for ever.

Duke.
You look on me.

Card.
What a grief 'tis to a religious feeling,
To think a man should have a friend so goodly,
So wise, so noble, nay, a Duke, a Brother,
And all this certainly damn'd?

Duke.
How!

Card.
'Tis no wonder,
If your great sin can do't; dare you look up
For thinking of a veng'ance? dare you sleep
For fear of never waking, but to death,
And dedicate unto a strumpets love
The strength of your affections, zeal and health?
Here you stand now; can you assure your pleasures,
You shall once more enjoy her, but once more?
Alas you cannot; what a misery 'tis then
To be more certain of eternal death,
Then of a next embrace? nay, shall I shew you
How more unfortunate you stand in sin,
Then the love private man; all his offences,
Like inclos'd grounds, keep but about himself,
And seldom stretch beyond his own souls bounds;
And when a man grows miserable, 'tis some comfort
When he's no further charg'd, then with himself;
'Tis a sweet ease to wretchedness: But great man,
Ev'ry sin thou commit'st, shews like a flame
Upon a Mountain, 'tis seen far about,
And with a big wind made of popular breath,
The sparkles flie through Cities: Here one takes,
Another catches there and in short time
Waste all to cinders: But remember still
What burnt the Valleys first, came from the Hill;
Ev'ry offence draws his particular pain,
But 'tis example proves the great mans bane.
The sins of mean men, lie like scatter'd parcels
Of an unperfect bill; but when such fall,
Then comes example, and that sums up all:
And this your reason grants, if men of good lives,
Who by their vertuous actions stir up others
To noble and religious imitation,
Receive the greater glory after death,
As sin must needs confess; what may they feel
In height of torments, and in weight of veng'ance,
Not onely they themselves, not doing well,
But sets a light up to shew men to Hell?

Duke.
If you have done, I have, no more sweet Brother.

Card.
I know time spent in goodness, is too tedious;
This had not been a moments space in Lust now;
How dare you venture on eternal pain,
That cannot bear a minuts reprehension?
Methinks you should endure to hear that talkt of
Which you so strive to suffer. Oh my Brother!
What were you, if you were taken now,
My heart weeps blood to think on't, 'tis a work
Of infinite mercy, (you can never merit)
That yet you are not death-struck, no not yet:
I dare not stay you long, for fear you should not
Have time enough allow'd you to repent in.
There's but this Wall betwixt you and destruction,
When y'are at strongest, and but poor thin clay.
Think upon't Brother, can you come so near it,
For a fair strumpets love, and fall into
A torment that knows neither end nor bottom
For beauty; but the deepness of a skin,
And that not of their own neither: Is she a thing
Whom sickness dare not visit, or age look on,
Or death resist, does the worm shun her grave?
If not (as your soul knows it) why should Lust
Bring man to lasting pain, for rotten dust?

Duke.
Brother of spotless honor, let me weep
The first of my repentance in thy bosome,
And shew the blest fruits of a thankful spirit;
And if I ere keep woman more unlawfully,
May I want penitence, at my greatest need.
And wisemen know there is no barren place,
Threatens more famine, then a dearth in grace.

Card.
Why here's a conversion, is at this time Brother
Sung for a Himn in Heaven, and at this instant
The powers of darkness groan, makes all Hell sorry.
First, I praise Heaven, then in my work I glory.
Who's there attends without?

Enter Servants.
Serv.
My Lord:

Card.
Take up those lights; there was a thicker darkness,
When they came first: The peace of a fair Soul
Keep with my noble Brother.

Exit Cardinal, &c.
Duke.
Joys be with you Sir:
She lies alone to night for't, and must still,
Though it be hard to conquer, but I have vow'd
Never to know her as a strumpet more,
And I must save my oath; if Fury fail not,
Her husband dies to night, or at the most,
Lives not to see the morning spent to morrow;
Then will I make her lawfully mine own,
Without this sin and horror. Now I'm chidden,
For what I shall enjoy then unforbidden,
And I'll not freeze in Stoves; 'tis but a while,
Live like a hopeful Bridegroom, chaste from flesh;
And pleasure then will seem new, fair and fresh.

Exit.

Scæn 2.

Enter Hippolito.
Hip.
The morning so far wasted, yet his baseness
So impudent? See if the very Sun do not blush at him!
Dare he do thus much, and know me alive!
Put case one must be vitious, as I know my self
Monstrously guilty, there's a blinde time made for't,
He might use onely that, 'twere conscionable:
Art, silence, closeness, subtlety, and darkness,
Are fit for such a business; but there's no pity
To be bestow'd on an apparent sinner,
An impudent day-light Leacher; the great zeal
I bear to her advancement in this match
With Lord Vincentio, as the Duke has wrought it,
To the perpetual honor of our house,
Puts fire into my blood, to purge the air
Of this corruption, fear it spread too far,
And poyson the whole hopes of this fair fortune.
I love her good so dearly, that no Brother
Shall venture farther for a Sisters glory,
Then I for her preferment.

Enter Leantio, and a Page.
Lean.
Once again
I'll see that glistring Whore, shines like a Serpent
Now the Court Sun's upon her: Page!

Page.
Anon Sir!
I'll go in state too; see the Coach be ready.

Lean.
I'll hurry away presently.

Hip.
Yes you shall hurry,
And the Devil after you; take that at setting forth.
Now, and you'll draw, we are upon equal terms Sir.
Thou took'st advantage of my name in honor,
Upon my Sister: I nev'r saw the stroke
Come, till I found my reputation bleeding;
And therefore count it I no sin to valor
To serve thy lust so: Now we are of even hand,
Take your best course against me. You must die.

Lean.
How close sticks Envy to mans happiness?
When I was poor, and little car'd for life,
I had no such means offer'd me to die,
No mans wrath minded me: Slave, I turn this to thee,
To call thee to account, for a wound lately
Of a base stamp upon me.

Hip.
'Twas most fit
For a base mettle. Come and fetch one now
More noble then, for I will use thee fairer
Then thou hast done thine soul, or our honor;
And there I think 'tis for thee.

Within.
Help, help, Oh part 'em.

Lean.
False wife! I feel now th'hast praid heartily for me;
Rise Strumpet by my fall, thy Lust may raign now;
My heart-string, and the marriage knot that ty'd thee,
Breaks both together.

Hip.
There I heard the sound on't,
And never like'd string better.

Enter Guardiano, Livia, Isabella, Ward, and Sordido:
Liv.
'Tis my Brother,
Are you hurt Sir?

Hip.
Not any thing.

Liv.
Blessed fortune,
Shift for thy self; what is he thou hast kill'd?

Hip.
Our honors enemy.

Guard.
Know you this man Lady?

Liv.
Leantio? My loves joy? wounds stick upon thee
As deadly as thy sins; art thou not hurt?
The Devil take that fortune, and he dead,
Drop plagues into thy bowels without voice,
Secret, and fearful: Run for Officers,
Let him be apprehended with all speed,
For fear he scape away; lay hands on him.
We cannot be too sure, 'tis wilful murder;
You do Heavens veng'ance, and the Law just service.
You know him not as I do, he's a villain,
As monstrous as a prodigy, and as dreadful:

Hip.
Will you but entertain a noble patience,
Till you but hear the reason worthy Sister!

Liv.
The reason! that's a jest Hell falls a laughing at:
Is there a reason found for the destruction
Of our more lawful loves? and was there none
To kill the black Lust twixt thy Neece and thee,
That has kept close so long?

Guard.
How's that good Madam?

Liv.
Too true Sir, there she stands, let her deny't;
The deed cries shortly in the Midwifes arms,
Unless the parents sins strike it still-born;
And if you be not deaf, and ignorant,
You'll hear strange notes ere long: Look upon me Wench!
'Twas I betray'd thy honor subtilly to him
Under a false tale; it lights upon me now;
His arm has paid me home upon thy breast,
My sweet belov'd Leantio!

Guard.
Was my judgment
And care in choice, so dev'llishly abus'd,
So beyond shamefully—All the world will grin at me.

Ward.
Oh Sordido, Sordido, I'm damn'd, I'm damn'd!

Sord.
Dam'd, why Sir!

Ward.
One of the wicked; do'st not see't, a Cuckold, a plain rebrobate Cuckold.

Sord.
Nay; and you be damn'd for that! be of good chear Sir,
Y'have gallant company of all professions; I'll have a wife
Next Sunday too, because I'll along with you my self.

Ward.
That will be some comfort yet.

Liv.
You Sir, that bear your load of injuries,
As I of sorrows, lend me your griev'd strength
To this sad burthen; who in life wore actions,
Flames were not nimbler: We will talk of things
May have the luck to break our hearts together.

Guard.
I'll list to nothing, but revenge and anger,
Whose counsels I will follow.

Exeunt Livia and Guardiano.
Sord.
A wife quoth'a!
Here's a sweet Plumb-tree of your Gardiner's graffing!

Ward.

Nay there's a worse name belongs to this

fruit yet, and you could hit on't, a more open one:
For he that marries a whore, looks like a fellow
bound all his life time to a Medler-tree, and that's
good stuff; 'tis no sooner ripe, but it looks rotten;
and so do some Queans at nineteen. A pox on't,
I thought there was some knavery a broach, for
something stir'd in her belly, the first night I lay with
her.

Sord.

What, what Sir!

Ward.

This is she brought up so courtly, can
sing, and dance, and tumble too, methinks, I'll never
marry wife again, that has so many qualities.

Sord.

Indeed they are seldom good Master; for
likely when they are taught so many, they will have
one trick more of their own finding out. Well, give
me a wench but with one good quality, to lye with
none but her husband, and that's bringing up enough
for any woman breathing.

Ward.

This was the fault, when she was tend'red
to me; you never look'd to this.

Sord.

Alas, how would you have me see through a
great Farthingal Sir! I cannot peep through a Milstone,
or in the going, to see what's done i'th' bottom.

Ward.
Her father prais'd her Brest, sh'ad the voice forsooth;
I marvell'd she sung so small indeed, being no Maid.
Now I perceive there's a yong Querister in her Belly:
This breeds a singing in my head I'm sure.

Sord.

'Tis but the tune of your wives Sinquapace,
Danc'd in a Fetherbed; Faith, go lye down Master
—but take heed your Horns do not make holes in
the Pillowbers.—I would not batter brows with
him for a Hogshead of Angels, he would prick my
skull as full of holes as a Scriveners Sand-Box.

Exeunt Ward and Sordido.
Isab.
Was ever Maid so cruelly beguil'd
To the confusion of life, soul, and honor,
All of one womans murd'ring! I'ld fain bring
Her name no nearer to my blood, then woman,
And 'tis too much of that; Oh shame and horror!
In that small distance from yon man to me,
Lies sin enough to make a whole world perish.
'Tis time we parted Sir, and left the sight
Of one another, nothing can be worse
To hurt repentance; for our very eyes
Are far more poysonous to Religion,
Then Basilisks to them; if any goodness
Rest in you, hope of comforts, fear of judgments,
My request is, I nev'r may see you more;
And so I turn me from you everlastingly,
So is my hope to miss you; but for her,
That durst so dally with a sin so dangerous,
And lay a snare so spightfully for my youth,
If the least means but favor my revenge,
That I may practise the like cruel cunning
Upon her life, as she has on mine honor,
I'll act it without pitty.

Hip.
Here's a care
Of reputation, and a Sisters fortune
Sweetly rewarded by her: Would a silence,
As great as that which keeps among the graves,
Had everlastingly chain'd up her tongue;
My love to her has made mine miserable.

Enter Guardiano and Livia.
Guard.
If you can but dissemble your hearts griefs now,
Be but a woman so far.

Liv.
Peace! I'll strive Sir:

Guard.
As I can wear my injuries in a smile;
Here's an occasion offer'd, that gives anger
Both liberty and safety to perform
Things worth the fire it holds, without the fear
Of danger, or of Law; for mischeif's acted
Under the priviledge of a marriage-triumph
At the Dukes hasty Nuptial's, will be thought
Things meerly accidental; all's by chance,
Not got of their own natures.

Liv.
I conceive you Sir,
Even to a longing for performance on't;
And here behold some fruits. Forgive me both,
What I am now return'd to Sence and Judgment.
Is not the same Rage and distraction
Presented lately to you? that rude form
Is gone for ever. I am now my self,
That speaks all peace, and friendship; and these tears
Are the true springs of hearty penitent sorrow
For those foul wrongs, which my forgetful fury
Sland'red your vertues with: This Gentleman
Is well resolv'd now.

Guard.
I was never otherways,
I knew (alas) 'twas but your anger spake it,
And I nev'r thought on't more.

Hip.
Pray rise good Sister.

Isab.
Here's ev'n as sweet amends made for a wrong now,
As one that gives a wound, and pays the Surgeon;
All the smart's nothing, the great loss of blood,
Or time of hind'rance: Well, I had a Mother,
I can dissemble too: What wrongs have slipt
Through angers ignorance (Aunt) my heart forgives.

Guard.
Why thus tuneful now!

Hip.
And what I did Sister,
Was all for honors cause, which time to come
Will approve to you.

Liv.
Being awak'd to goodness,
I understand so much Sir, and praise now
The fortune of your arm, and of your safety;
For by his death y'have rid me of a sin
As costly as ev'r woman doted on:
T'has pleas'd the Duke so well too, that (behold Sir)
Has sent you here your pardon, which I kist
With most affectionate comfort; when 'twas brought,
Then was my fit just past, it came so well me thought
To glad my heart.

Hip.
I see his Grace thinks on me.

Liv.
There's no talk now but of the preparation
For the great marriage.

Hip.
Does he marry her then?

Liv.
With all speed, suddenly, as fast as cost
Can be laid on with many thousand hands.
This Gentleman and I, had once a purpose
To have honored the first marriage of the Duke
With an invention of his own; 'twas ready
The pains well past, most of the charge bestow'd on't;
Then came the death of your good Mother (Neece)
And turn'd the glory of it all to black:
'Tis a device would fit these times so well too,
Art's treasury not better; if you'll joyn
It shall be done, the cost shall all be mine:

Hip.
Y'have my voice first, 'twill well approve my thankfulness
For the Dukes love and favor.

Liv.
What say you Neece?

Isab.
I am content to make one.

Guard.
The plot's full then;
Your pages Madam, will make shift for Cupids.

Liv.
That will they Sir.

Guard.
You'll play your old part still.

Liv.
What, is't good? troth I have ev'n forgot it.

Guard.
Why Juno Pronuba, the Marriage-Goddess.

Liv.
'Tis right indeed.

Guard.
And you shall play the Nymph,
That offers sacrifice to appease her wrath.

Isab.
Sacrifice good Sir?

Liv.
Must I be appeased then?

Guard.
That's as you list your self, as you see cause.

Liv.
Methinks 'twould shew the more state in her diety,
To be Incenst.

Isab.
'Twould, but my Sacrifice
Shall take a course to appease you, or I'll fail in't,
And teach a sinful Baud to play a Goddess.

Guard.
For our parts, we'll not be ambitious Sir;
Please you walk in, and see the project drawn,
Then take your choice.

Hip.
I weigh not, so I have one.

Exit.
Liv.
How much ado have I to restrain fury
From breaking into curses! Oh how painful 'tis
To keep great sorrow smother'd! sure I think
'Tis harder to dissemble Grief, then Love:
Leantio, here the weight of thy loss lies,
Which nothing but destruction can suffice.

Exeunt.

Scæn 3.

Hoboys.
Enter in great state the Duke and Brancha, richly attir'd, with Lords, Cardinals, Ladies, and other Attendants, they pass solemnly over: Enter L Cardinal in a rage, seeming to break off the Ceremony.
L. Card.
Cease, cease; Religious Honors done to sin,
Disparage Vertues reverence, and will pull
Heavens thunder upon Florence; holy Ceremonies
Were made for sacred uses, not for sinful.
Are these the fruits of your Repentance Brother?
Better it had been you had never sorrow'd,
Then to abuse the benefit, and return
To worse then where sin left you.
Vow'd you then never to keep Strumpet more,
And are you now so swift in your desires,
To knit your honors, and your life fast to her!
Is not sin sure enough to wretched man,
But he must bind himself in chains to't? Worse!
Must marriage, that immaculate robe of honor,
That renders Vertue glorious, fair, and fruitful
To her great Master, be now made the Garment
Of Leprousie and Foulness? is this Penitence
To sanctifie hot Lust? what is it otherways
Then worship done to Devils? is this the best
Amends that sin can make after her riots?
As if a Drunkard, to appease Heavens wrath,
Should offer up his surfeit for a Sacrifice:
If that be comly, then Lust's offerings are
On Wedlocks sacred Altar.

Duke.
Here y'are bitter
Without cause Brother: what I vow'd I keep,
As safe as you your Conscience, and this needs not;
I taste more wrath in't, then I do Religion;
And envy more then goodness; the path now
I tread, is honest, leads to lawful love,
Which vertue in her strictness would not check:
I vow'd no more to keep a sensual woman:
'Tis done, I mean to make a lawful wife of her.

L. Card.
He that taught you that craft,
Call him not Master long, he will undo you.
Grow not too cunning for your soul good Brother,
Is it enough to use adulterous thefts,
And then take sanctuary in marriage?
I grant, so long as an offender keeps
Close in a priviledged Temple, his life's safe;
But if he ever venture to come out,
And so be taken, then he surely dies for't:
So now y'are safe; but when you leave this body,
Mans onely priviledg'd Temple upon Earth,
In which the guilty soul takes sanctuary,
Then you'll perceive what wrongs chaste vows endure,
When Lust usurps the Bed that should be pure.

Bran.
Sir, I have read you over all this while
In silence, and I finde great knowledge in you,
And severe learning, yet 'mongst all your vertues
I see not charity written, which some call
The first-born of Religion, and I wonder
I cannot see't in yours. Believe it Sir,
There is no vertue can be sooner miss'd,
Or later welcom'd; it begins the rest,
And sets 'em all in order; Heaven and Angels
Take great delight in a converted sinner.
Why should you then a Servant and Professor,
Differ so much from them? If ev'ry woman
That commits evil, should be therefore kept
Back in desires of goodness, how should vertue
Be known and honor'd? From a man that's blinde,
To take a burning Taper, 'tis no wrong,
He never misses it: But to take light
From one that see's, that's injury and spight.
Pray whether is Religion better serv'd,
When lives that are licentious are made honest,
Then when they still run through a sinful blood.
'Tis nothing Vertues Temples to deface;
But build the ruines, there's a work of Grace.

Duke.
I kiss thee for that spirit; thou hast prais'd thy wit
A modest way: On, on there.

Hoboys.
L. Card.
Lust is bold,
And will have veng'ance speak, er't be controld.

Exeunt.