INFELICE

Good Woman do. O sir, that cannot make me jealous. Here's honeyed poison, to me he never thus writ, But Lust can set a double edge on wit. From whom sayest thou? And whats your business? What would she have me do in this? Where lies this Land? Is she then married? why stirs not her Husband in it? Let her in writing draw the cause at large: And I will move the Duke. Old man, I'll plead for her, but take no fees: Give Lawyers them, I swim not in that flood, I'll touch no gold, till I have done her good. My Husbands name, and hand and seal at arms to a Love-letter? Where hadst thou this writing? My Lord turned Ranger now? This very purse was woven with mine own hands, This Diamond on that very night, when he Untied my Virgin girdle, gave I him: And must a common Harlot share in mine? Oh worser man, to quit thy pains, take thou the gold. Cupid himself was sure his Secretary, These nes are even the Arrows Love let flies, The very Ink dropped out of Venus eyes. Oaths, promises, preferments, Jewels, gold, What snares should break, if all these cannot hold? What creature is thy Mistress? What manner of woman? They are delivered better: Why should she send back these things? Strumpets Like cheating gamesters will not win At first: these are but baits to draw him in. How might I learn his hunting hours? Knowest thou what other gifts have passed between them? Him I'm examine presently. Be gone then, & what lies in me command. Come hither sirrah, how much cost those Satins, and cloth of Silver, which my husband sent by you to a low Gentlewoman yonder? She there, to whom you carried letters. Did your Lord never send you with a Ring, sir, set with a Diamond? Are you so close, you Bawd, you pandring slave? Out of my sighed, base varlet, get thee gone. If you'll needs know, it was about the clock: how works the day, my Lord, (pray) by your watch? How, two? I am scarce at one. Then sure it's you, Mine goes by heavens Dial, (the Sun) and it goes true. Set it to mine (at one) then. Faith then belike, Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike, And since it is uncertain which goes true, Better be false at one, then false at two. Yet not merry. Nothing my Lord, but my false watch, pray tell me, You see, my clock, or yours is out of frame, Must we upon the Workman lay the blame, Or on your selves that keep them? All is not well indeed, my dearest Lord, Lock up thy gates of hearing, that no found Of what I speak ma enter. Or if my own tongue must my self betray, Count it a dream, or turn thine eyes away, And think me not thy wife. Earth is sins cushion: when the sick soul feels her self growing poor, then she turns beggar, cries and kneels for help; Hipollito (for husband I dare not call thee) I have slolne that Jewel of my chaste honour (which was only thine) and given it to a slave. On thy pillow adultery & lust have sl pt, thy Groom Hath climbed the unlawful tree, and plucked the sweets, A villain hath usurped a husbands sheets. This Irish Footman. I beg but this, Set not my shame out to the world's broad eye, Yet let thy vengeance (Like my fault) soar hie, So it be in darkened clouds. Hipollito? The slave did woo me. 'Twas thus, he gave me this battery first. O I Mistake, believe me, all this in beaten gold: Yet I held out, but at length this was charmed. What? change your Diamond wench, the act is base, Common, but foul, so shall not your disgrace: Could not I feed your appetite? O Men, You were created Augels, pure and fair, But since the first fell, worse then Devils you are. You should our shields be, but you prove our rods. Were there no Men, Women might live Like gods. Guilty my Lord? Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed, With no whores leavings I'll be poisoned. Here, sir. It's a good honest servant, that old man. And it may be my husband, Because when once this woman was unmasked, He leveled all her thoughts, and made them fit: Now he'd mar all again, to try his wit. Let me be gone, my Lord, or stand unseen; It's rare when a Judge strikes, and that none die, And it's unfit then, women should be by. Pray do so. It's my cue To enter now: room, let my Prize be played, I would lurked in Clouds, yet herd what all have said, What Jury more can prove, she has wronged my bed, Then her own husband, she must be punished; I challenge Law, my Lord, Letters, and Gold, and Jewels From my Lord that woman took. Alas good Candido. Dost thou not weep now thou art here? Me thinks this place Should make even Lais honest.