Count. It is.
Gond. 'Tis she, whose greatest virtue ever was
Dissimulation; she that still hath strove
More to sin cunningly, than to avoid it:
She that hath ever sought to be accounted
Most virtuous, when she did deserve most scandal:
'Tis she that itches now, and in the height
Of her intemperate thoughts, with greedy eyes
Expects my coming to allay her Lust:
Leave her; forget she's thy sister.
Count. Stay, stay.
Duke. I am as full of this, as thou canst be,
The memory of this will easily
Hereafter stay my loose and wandring thought
From any Woman.
Count. This will not down with me, I dare not trust this fellow.
Duke. Leave her here, that only shall be her punishment, never to be fetcht from hence; but let her use her trade to get her living.
Count. Stay good my Lord, I do believe all this, as great men as I, have had known whores to their Sisters, and have laught at it: I would fain hear how she talks, since she grew thus light: will your grace make him shew himself to her, as if he were now come to satisfie her longing? whilst we, unseen of her, over-hear her wantonness, let's make our best of it now, we shall have good mirth.
Duke. Do it Gondarino.
Gond. I must; fortune assist me but this once.