Evan. I could curse thee wickedly,
And wish thee more deformed than Age can make thee,
Perpetual hunger, and no teeth to satisfie it,
Wait on thee still, nor sleep be found to ease it;
Those hands that gave the Casket, may the Palsie
For ever make unuseful, even to feed thee:
Long winters, that thy Bones may turn to Isicles,
No Hell can thaw again, inhabit by thee.
Is thy Care like thy Body, all one crookedness?
How scurvily thou cryest now! like a Drunkard,
I'll have as pure tears from a dirty spout;
Do, swear thou didst this ignorantly, swear it,
Swear and be damn'd, thou half Witch.
Cas. These are fine words, well Madam, Madam.
Evan. 'Tis not well, thou mummy,
'Tis impudently, basely done, thou durty—
Fred. Has your young sanctity done railing, Madam,
Against your innocent 'Squire? do you see this Sonnet,
This loving Script? do you know from whence it came too?
Evan. I do, and dare avouch it pure, and honest.
Fred. You have private Visitants, my noble Lady,
That in sweet numbers court your goodly Vertues,
And to the height of adoration.
Evan. Well, Sir,
There's neither Heresie nor Treason in it.
Fred. A Prince may beg at the door, whilst these feast with ye;
A favour or a grace, from such as I am,
Enter Valerio, and Podramo.
Course common things. You are welcome; Pray come near Sir,
Do you know this paper?