Cla. All that may fall,
And arm'd against that all.
Sil. Her honor too?
What she may suffer in this rash adventure
The beauty of her name?
Cla. I'll doe it closely,
And only at her window, with that caution—
Sil. Are there no Guards?
Cla. Corruption chokes their service.
Sil. Or do you hold her bred so light a woman
To hold commerce with strange tongues?
Cla. Why this service,
This only hazard of my life must tell her,
Though she were Vestas self, I must deserve her.
Sil. I would not have ye go: pray let it sink here,
And think a nobler way to raise your service,
A safer and a wiser.
Cla. 'Tis too late, Sir.
Sil. Then I must say, You shall not goe.