Pand. Thou art not made
Of that same stuff as other women are:
Thy injuries would teach patience to blaspheme,
Yet still thou art a Dove.
Jul. I know not malice, but like an innocent, suffer.
Pand. More miraculous!
I'll have a woman Chronicled, and for goodness,
Which is the greatest wonder. Let me see,
I have no Son to inherit after me;
Him I disclaim.
What then? I'll make thy vertues my sole heir;
Thy story I'll have written, and in Gold too;
In prose and verse, and by the ablest doers:
A word or two of a kind step-father
I'll have put in, good Kings and Queens shall buy it.
And if the actions of ill great women,
And of the modern times too, are remembred,
That have undone their husbands and their families,
What will our story do? It shall be so,
And I will streight about it. [Exit Pand.
Enter Boy.
Jul. Such as love
Goodness for glory, have it for reward;
I love mine for it self: let innocence
Be written on my Tomb, though ne're so humble,
'Tis all I am ambitious of. But I
Forget my vows.
Boy. 'Fore me you are not modest,
Nor is this Courtlike. Would you take it well,
If she should rudely press into your Closet,
When from your several Boxes you choose paint,
To make a this days face with?
Jul. What's the matter?
Boy. Pray know her pleasure first.
Jul. To whom speak you Boy?
Boy. Your Ladiships pardon. That proud Lady thief,
That stole away my Lord from your embraces,
(Wrinckles at two and twenty on her cheeks for't,
Or Mercury unallayed, make blisters on it)
Would force a visit.