(SCENE 1.)

Enter Sir Geffry and Lady.

Sir Geff. But I beseech you, Madam; what greater accession[93] can you wish then me for husband? I have it here thats sattisfaction for the lustiest widdow twixt this and London. Say, will you love me? Ime in hast and hate demurrs; if you refuse I must seeke out: I have a little moysture and would be loth to hav't dride for want of exercise.—What say you, lady?

Lady. Sir, for your love I thanke you; for your wealth I want it not; but yet I doe not find A disposicon in my selfe to marriage.

Sir Geff. That will not serve my turne; I am no knight Who weares the spurr of honour without Rowells To prick a woman forwards: I ride post To Marriage and resolve at the next stage To take my Inn up. You have here Two beautifull young gallants to your daughters: Since youle not be my wife yet be my mother; Ile marry any of them, which you please, And hood her with the bagg [badge?] of honor. Lady, What say you to this motion.

Lady. My daughters wills are not in my command: If you can purchase either of their hearts, My free consent shall follow.

Sir Geff. Nay, then, they will fall out for me, Madam, I am most fortunate in atcheiving virgins.

Enter Bonville.

Save you, sweet youth, the bewties of your Mrs. Crowne your desires. Are you a suiter?

Bon. Madam, I have occasions of importance Wishes a little privacy with you.

Lady. With me, sweet Mr. Bonvill? Sir Geffrey, Pray you vouchsafe your absence; at more leasure We shall discourse.

Sir Geff. With all my heart: Ile to the wenches. [Exit.

Bon. Madam we are alone?

Lady. You did desire we should.

Bon. But are you sure none can oreheare us.

Lady. Unles we be to loud: What mooves you to require this secresie?

Bon. I come to aske a question, which the winds; If I could deafe them, should not heare for feare Their repercussive Eccho should declare it To all our infamies.

Lady. What ist, I pray you?

Bon. Your daughter whom I was a servant to, —I must deliver it in the homeliest phrase— Is she dishonest?

Lady. You urge a repetition, gentle sir, Of a sad truth: she is.

Bon. It cannot be In reason comprehensible a mother Should for a stranger blurr her daughters fame, Were it untruth. I am confirmd; this favor Transcends requitall: if a man misled By error gainst the diety, gross enough For his damnation, owe a gratitude To his converter, I am engag'd to you For my delivery from her.

Lady. 'Twas no more Then what my honor obligd me And my respect to vertue, which in you I should have murdred by my silence; but I have not greife enough left to lament The memory of her folly: I am growne Barren of teares by weeping; but the spring Is not yet quite exhausted. [Weeps.

Bon. Keepe your teares Lest the full clouds, ambitious that their drops Should mix with yours, unteeme their big wombd laps And rayse a suddeine deluge. Gratious madam, The oftner you reherse her losse the more You intimate the gaine I have acquird By your free bounty, which to me appeares So farr transcending possibility Of satisfaction that, unles you take My selfe for payment, I can nere discharge A debt so waytie.

Lady. Ist come to this? You speake misteriously; explaine your meaning.

Bon. To consecrate, with that devotion That holy Hermits immolate[94] theire prayers, My selfe the adorer of your vertues.

Lady. Are you serious?

Bon. No scrupulous penitent, timerous that each thought Should be a sinn, does to the priest lay ope With halfe that verity his troubled soule That I doe mine. I love you: in that word Include all ceremony. No sooner had Your information disingagd my heart Of honoring your daughter, but amazd At the immensnesse of the benefit Your goodness had cast on me, I resolvd This way to show my gratitude.

Lady. But dare you, Knowing the daughter vicious, entertaine Affection to the mother?

Bon. Dare I when I have bin long opresd with a disease, Wish pleasing health? theres vertue enough here To excite beleife in Moores that only women Have heavenly soules.

Lady. This is admirable: Did my intention tend to love, as soone I should embrace your motion in that kind As any others, wert but to afford Some small lustracon for the wrong my daughter Intended you; nay, to confesse my thought, I feele a strong propension in my selfe To yeild to you; but I am loath,[95]—your youth Will quickly loath me.

Enter Y[oung] Marlowe and Thurston.

Mar. Madam, this Gent[leman] Desires to have you know him for your son: Tis he my sister Clariana, with your licence, Wishes for husband.

Lady. A proper Gent[leman]; Ime happy she has made So iuditious an election.[96] You are very welcome, sir: conduct him in, Sonn.

[Exeunt Young Marlowe and Thurston.

Bon. Persuade me I can hate Sleepe after tedious watching, or reiect The wholesome ayre when I've bin long choakd up With sicklie foggs: sooner shall—

Lady. Desist from protestations, or employ them Mong those who have no more discretion Then to beleive them.

Bon. How, Lady?

Lady. You can in Justice now no more appeach Our mutabillities, since you have provd So manifestly [in]constant.

Bon. These are arts Orewhelme my dull capacity with horror: Inconstant!

Lady. Are the light faines erected on the tops Of lofty structures stedfast, which each wind Rules with its motion? credulous man, I thought My daughters reall vertues had inspired thee With so much confidence as not to loose The estimation of her honor for My bare assertion, without questioning The time or any the least circumstance That might confirm't. I did but this to try Your constancy: farewell. [Exit.

Bon. What witch had duld my sense That such a stuped Lethurgie should sease My intellectuall faculties they could not Perceive this drift! If she be virtuous, As no man but an heretick to truth Would have imagind, how shall I excuse My slanderous malice? my old fire renewes And in an instant with its scortching flames Burnes all suspicon up.

Enter Belisea.

Bel. Peace attend you.

Bon. What Cherubim has left the quire in heaven And warbles peacefull Anthems to the earth? It is her voyce, that to all eares speakes health, Only to mine. Come charitable mist Hide me, or freindly wherlewind rap me hence, Or her next accent, like the thunderers, will Strike me to dust.

Bel. Sir, I come not With resolution (though my innocence May justly arme [me]) to declare my truth; For I am going where your slander cannot (Had it bin greater) blast me. I desire This for my past love, that youle retaine Your wrong opinion to yourselfe, not labour To possesse others with it, to disgrace Our yet unspotted family.

Bon. If you want A partner in your greife, take me along That can teach you and all the world true Sorrow.

Bel. Twas not don well to brand my spotles name With Infamy; but to deride me is Inhumaine, when I only come to tell you Ile send my prayers on charities white wings To heaven for your prosperity.—You greive For what? for your deliverance from a strumpet?

Bon. No, but that my raving fancy should direct My trecherous tongue with that detested name To afflict thy unblemishd purity, Belisea. I do confes my error was an act Soe grosse and heathnish that its very sight Would have inforcd a Crocodile to weepe Drops as sincere as does the timorous heart When he ore heares the featherd arrow sing His funerall Dirge.

Bel. Can this be possible?

Bon. No sismatick, reduc'd to the true faith, Can more abhorre the Error he has left Than I do mine. I do beleive thee chast As the straight palme; as absolute from spots As the immaculate Ermine, who does choose, When he is hunted by the frozen Russe, To meete the toyle ere he defile the white Of his rich skin. What seas of teares will serve To expiatt the scandall I have throwne On holy Innocence?

Bel. Well, I forgive you; But ere I seale your pardon I in[j]oyne This as a pennance: you shall now declare The author of your wrong report.

Bon. Your mother.

Bel. How! my mother?

Bon. No creature else Could have inducd me to such a madnes.

Bel. Defend me gracious virtue! is this man Not desperate of remission, that without Sense of compu[n]ction dares imagine lies Soe horrible and godlesse? My disgrace Was wrong sufficient to tempt mercie, yet Cause twas my owne I pardond it; but this Inferd toth piety of my guiltless mother Stops all indulgence.

Bon. Will you not heare me out?

Bel. Your words will deafe me; I doe renounce my affection to you; when You can speake truth, protest you love agen. [Exit.

Bon. Contempt repaid with scorne; tis my desert; Poyson soone murders a love wounded heart.

[Exit.