Flo. How?
Otr. I'll show ye,
Their mouths I'll seal up, they shall speak no more
But what is honorable and honest of ye,
And Saintlike they shall worship ye: they are mine,
And what I charge them Florimell.
Flo. I am ruin'd,
Heaven will regard me yet, they are barbarous wretches:
Let me not fall (my Lord.)
Otr. You shall not Florimell:
Mark how I'll work your peace, and how I honor ye.
Who waits there? come all in.
Enter Gerasto and Servants.
Ger. Your pleasure Sir.
Otr. Who dare say this sweet beauty is not heavenly?
This virgin, the most pure the most untainted,
The holiest thing?
Ger. We know it (my dear Lord)
We are her slaves: and that proud impudence
That dares disparage her, this sword (my Lord.)
1. Ser. They are rascals, base, the sons of common women
That wrong this virtue, or dare own a thought
But fair and honorable of her: when we slight her,
Hang us, or cut's in pieces: let's tug i'th' Gallies.
2 Ser. Brand us for villains.