Seeing thou art fair, I bar not thy false playing,
But let not me, poor soul, know[435] of thy straying.
Nor do I give thee counsel to live chaste,
But that thou would'st dissemble, when 'tis past.
She hath not trod awry, that doth deny it.
Such as confess have lost their good names by it.
What madness is't to tell night-pranks[436] by day?
And[437] hidden secrets openly to bewray?
The strumpet with the stranger will not do,
Before the room be clear and door put-to.10