Mart. He the best?
The scum and shame of mankind.
Jul. Virolet, Lady?
Mart. Blest in him? I would my youth had chosen
Consuming feavers, bed-rid age
For my companions, rather then a thing
To lay whose baseness open, would even poyson
The tongue that speaks it.
Jul. Certainly from you
At no part he deserves this; and I tell you,
Durst I pretend but the least title to him,
I should not hear this.
Mart. He's an impudent villain,
Or a malicious wretch: to you ungrateful;
To me beyond expression barbarous.
I more then hate him; from you he deserves
A death most horrid: from me, to dye for ever,
And know no end of torments. Would you have comfort?
Would you wash off the stain that sticks upon you,
In being refus'd? Would you redeem your fame,
Shipwrack'd in his base wrongs? if you desire this,
It is not to be done with slavish suffering,
But by a Noble anger, making way
To a most brave revenge, we may call justice;
Our injuries are equal; joyn with me then,
And share the honor.
Jul. I scarce understand you,
And know I shall be most unapt to learn
To hate the man I still must love and honor.
Mar. This foolish dotage in soft-hearted women,
Makes proud men insolent: but take your way,
I'll run another course.
Jul. As you are noble,
Deliver his offence.
Mart. He has denied
The rites due to a wife.
Jul. O me most happy,
How largely am I payd for all my sufferings!
Most honest Virolet, thou just performer
Of all thy promises: I call to mind now,
When I was happy in those joys you speak of,
In a chast bed, and warranted by Law too,
He oft would swear, that if he should survive me,
(Which then I knew he wisht not) never woman
Should tast of his embraces; this one act
Makes me again his debtor.