Clarin. Do not you stick to truth, she is seldom heard, Madam,
A poor weak tongue she has, and that is hoarse too
With pleading at the bars, none understand her,
Or if you had her, what can she say for ye?
Must she not swear he came at midnight to ye,
The door left open, and your husband cozen'd
With a feign'd sickness?
Cal. But by my soul I was honest, thou know'st I was honest.
Clarin. That's all one what I know,
What I will testifie is that shall vex ye;
Trust not a guilty rage with likelihoods,
And on apparent proof, take heed of that, Madam;
If you were innocent (as it may be ye are)
I do not know, I leave it to your conscience,
It were the weakest and the poorest part of ye,
Men being so willing to believe the worst,
So open eyed in this age to all infamie,
To put your fame in this weak bark to the venture.
Cal. What do I suffer! O my precious honour,
Into what box of evils have I lock'd thee!
Yet rather than be thus outbrav'd, and by
My drudg, my footstool, one that sued to be so;
Perish both life, and honour. Devil thus
I dare thy worst, defie thee, spit at thee,
And in my vertuous rage, thus trample on thee;
Awe me thy Mistris, whore, to be thy baud?
Out of my house, proclaim all that thou knowest,
Or malice can invent, fetch jealousie
From Hell, and like a furie breath it in
The bosom of my Lord; and to thy utmost
Blast my fair fame, yet thou shalt feel with horror
To thy sear'd conscience, my truth is built
On such a firm base, that if e're it can
Be forc'd, or undermin'd by thy base scandals,
Heaven keeps no guard on innocence. [Exit.
Clarin. I am lost,
In my own hopes forsaken, and must fall
The greatest torment to a guilty woman
Without revenge, till I can fashion it
I must submit, at least appear as if
I did repent, and would offend no farther.
Monsieur Beronte my Lords Brother is
Oblig'd unto me for a private favour;
'Tis he must mediate for me; but when time
And opportunity bids me strike, my wreak
Shall pour it self on her nice chastitie
Like to a torrent, deeds, not words shall speak me. [Exit.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Alcidon, and Beronte, severally.
Alci. Ye are opportunely [m]et.