Gond. Save me ye better powers, let me not fall
Between the lo[o]se embracements of a woman:
Heaven, if my Sins be ripe grown to a head,
And must attend your vengeance: I beg not to divert my fate,
Or to reprive a while thy punishment
Only I crave, and hear me equall heavens,
Let not your furious rod, that must afflict me
Be that imperfect peece of nature,
That art makes up, woman, unsatiate woman.
Had we not knowing souls, at first infus'd
To teach a difference, 'twixt extremes and goods?
Were we not made our selves, free, unconfin'd
Commanders of our own affections?
And can it be, that this most perfect creature,
This image of his maker, well squar'd man,
Should leave the handfast, that he had of grace,
To fall into a womans easie armes.
Enter Oriana.
Orian. Now Venus, be my speed, inspire me with all the severall subtil temptations, that thou hast already given, or hast in store heareafter to bestow upon our Sex: grant that I may apply that Physick that is most apt to work upon him: whether he will soonest be mov'd with wantonness, singing, dancing; or being passionate, with scorn; or with sad and serious looks, cunningly mingled with sighs, with smiling, lisping, kissing the hand, and making short curt'sies, Or with whatsoever other nimble power, he may be caught, doe thou infuse into me, and when I have him, I will sacrifice him up to thee.
Gond. It comes again; New apparitions,
And tempting spirits: Stand and reveal thy self,
Tell why thou followest me! I fear thee
As I fear the place thou cam'st from: Hell.
Orian. My Lord, I 'm a woman, and such a one—
Gond. That I hate truely, thou hadst better bin a devill.
Orian. Why my unpatient Lord?
Gond. Devils were once good, there they excell'd you wom[e]n.
Orian. Can ye be so uneasie, can ye freeze, and
Such a summers heat so ready
To dissolve? nay gentle Lord, turn not away in scorn,
Nor hold me less fair than I am: look on these cheeks,
They have yet enough of nature, true complexion,
If to be red and white, a forehead high,
An easie melting lip, a speaking eye,
And such a tongue, whose language takes the ear
Of strict religion, and men most austere:
If these may hope to please, look here.
Gond. This woman with entreaty wo'd show all,
Lady there lies your way, I pray ye farewell.