1 Ser. I fear thou hast given my Lord the —— thou damn'd thing.
2 Ser. I have seen her in the Stewes.
Ger. The knave her father
Was Bawd to her there, and kept a Tipling house,
You must even to it again: a modest function.
Flo. If ye had honesty, ye would not use me
Thus basely, wretchedly, though your Lord bid ye,
But he that knows.
Ger. Away thou carted impudence,
You meat for every man: a little meal
Flung in your face, makes ye appear so proud.
Flo. This is inhumane. Let these tears persuade you,
If ye be men, to use a poor girl better;
I wrong not you, I am sure I call you Gentlemen.
Enter Otrante.
Otr. What business is here? away, are not you gone yet?
Flo. My Lord, this is not well: although you hate me,
For what I know not; to let your people wrong me,
Wrong me maliciously, and call me.—
Otr. Peace,
And mark me what we say advisedly;
Mark, as you love that that you call your credit;
Yield now, or you are undone: your good name's perish'd
Not all the world can buy your reputation;
'Tis sunk for ever else, these peoples tongues will poison ye
Though you be white as innocence they'll taint ye,
They will speak terrible and hideous things,
And people in this age are prone to credit,
They'll let fall nothing that may brand a woman,
Consider this, and then be wise and tremble,
Yield yet, and yet I'll save ye.