Theod. Nay, credulity. [Exit all but Thierry, Brunhalt.
Brun. Why Son what mean you, are you a man?
Thier. No Mother I am no man, were I a man,
How could I be thus happy?
Brun. How can a wife be author of this joy then?
Thier. That being no man, I am married to no woman;
The best of men in full ability,
Can only hope to satisfie a wife,
And for that hope ridiculous, I in my want
And such defective poverty, that to her bed
From my first Cradle brought no strength but thought,
Have met a temperance beyond hers that rockt me,
Necessity being her bar; where this
Is so much sensless of my depriv'd fire;
She knows it not a loss by her desire.
Brun. It is beyond my admiration.
Thier. Beyond your sexes faith,
The unripe Virgins of our age, to hear't
Will dream themselves to women, and convert
Th' example to a miracle.
Brun. Alas, 'tis your defect moves my amazement,
But what ll can be separate from ambition?
Cruel Theodoret.
Thier. What, of my brother?
Brun. That to his name your barrenness adds rule;
Who loving the effect, would not be strange
In favouring the cause; look on the profit,
And gain will quickly point the mischief out.