Ag. No sweet,
We are your friends: look up, I am Agenor,
O my Merione, that loves you dearly:
And come to marry ye.
Leo. Sister, what ail ye?
Speak out your griefs, and boldly—
Ag. Something sticks here
Will choak ye else.
Mer. I hope it will.
Qu. Be free Lady,
You have your loving friends about ye.
A[g]. Dear Merione,
By the unspotted love I ever bore ye,
By thine own goodness—
Mer. Oh 'tis gone, 'tis gone Sir,
I am now I know not what: pray ye look not on me,
No name is left me, nothing to inherit
But that detested, base, and branded—
Ag. Speak it,
And how; diseases of most danger
Their causes once discover'd are easily cur'd:
My fair Merione.
Mer. I thank your love Sir;
When I was fair Merione, unspotted,
Pure, and unblasted in the bud you honour'd,
White as the heart of truth, then Prince Agenor,
Even then I was not worthy of your favour;
Wretch that I am, less worthy now of pitty:
Let no good thing come near me, virtue flie me;
You that have honest noble names despise me,
For I am nothing now but a main pestilence
Able to poison all. Send those unto me
That have forgot their names, ruin'd their fortunes,
Despis'd their honours; those that have been Virgins
Ravish'd and wrong'd, and yet dare live to tell it.
The. Now it appears too plain.