Wash’d white enough, for yet I see a stain
Stick in your liver: go and purge again.
Perigot: Oh, do not wrong my honest simple truth!
Myself and my affections are as pure
As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine
Of the great Dian; only my intent
To drag you thither was to plight our troths,
With interchange of mutual chaste embraces,
And ceremonious tying of our souls.
For to that holy wood is consecrate