Eva. Goodness forbid my Lord, sure you abuse your self.
Val. 'Tis true Evanthe;
I shame to say you will find it. [Weeps.
Evant. He weeps bitterly,
'Tis my hard fortune, bless all young maids from it;
Is there no help my Lord in art will comfort ye?
Val. I hope there is.
Evant. How long have you been destitute?
Val. Since I was young.
Evant. 'Tis hard to dye for nothing,
Now you shall know 'tis not the pleasure Sir,
(For I am compell'd to love you spiritually)
That women aim at, I affect ye for,
'Tis for your worth; and kiss me, be at peace,
Because I ever loved ye, I still honour ye,
And with all duty to my Husband follow ye;
Will ye to bed now? ye are asham'd i[t] seems;
Pygmalion pray'd and his cold stone took life,
You do not know with what zeal I shall ask Sir,
And what rare miracle that may work upon ye;
Still blush? prescribe your Law.
Val. I prethee pardon me,
To bed, and I'le sit by thee, and mourn with thee,
Mourn both our fortunes, our unhappy ones:
Do not despise me, make me not more wretched,
I pray to Heaven when I am gone Evanthe,
As my poor date is but a span of time now,
To recompence thy noble patience,
Thy love and vertue with a fruitfull husband,
Honest and honourable.
Evant. Come, you have made me weep now,
All fond desire dye here, and welcom chastity,
Honour and chastity, do what you please Sir. [Exeunt.