Fred. That's all one, 'tis my will.
Evan. 'Tis a most wicked one,
A most absurd one, and will show a Monster;
I had rather be a Whore, and with less sin,
To your present lust, than Queen to your injustice.
Yours is no love, Faith and Religion fly it,
Nor has no taste of fair affection in it,
Some Hellish flame abuses your fair body,
And Hellish furies blow it; look behind ye,
Divorce ye from a Woman of her beauty,
Of her integrity, her piety?
Her love to you, to all that honours ye,
Her chaste and vertuous love, are these fit causes?
What will you do to me, when I have cloy'd ye?
You may find time out in eternity,
Deceit and violence in heavenly Justice,
Life in the grave, and death among the blessed,
Ere stain or brack in her sweet reputation.
Sor. You have fool'd enough, be wise now, and a woman,
You have shew'd a modesty sufficient,
If not too much for Court.
Evan. You have shew'd an impudence,
A more experienc'd bawd would blush and shake at;
You will make my kindred mighty.
Fred. Prethee hear me.
Evan. I do Sir, and I count it a great offer.
Fred. Any of thine.
Evan. 'Tis like enough you may clap honour on them,
But how 'twill sit, and how men will adore it,
Is still the question. I'le tell you what they'l say, Sir,
What the report will be, and 'twill be true too,
And it must needs be comfort to your Master,
These are the issues of her impudence:
I'le tell your Grace, so dear I hold the Queen,
So dear that honour that she nurs'd me up in,
I would first take to me, for my lust, a Moor,
One of your Gally-slaves, that cold and hunger,
Decrepit misery, had made a mock-man,
Than be your Queen.
Fred. You are bravely resolute.
Evan. I had rather be a Leper, and be shun'd,
And dye by pieces, rot into my grave,
Leaving no memory behind to know me,
Than be a high Whore to eternity.