Dem. She was vertuous, And therefore not unfit my youth to love her: She was as fair—
Ant. Her beauty I'le proclaim too, To be as rich as ever raign'd in Woman; But how she made that good, the Devil knows.
Dem. She was—O Heaven!
Ant. The Hell to all thy glories, Swallow'd thy youth, made shipwrack of thine honour: She was a Devil.
Dem. Ye are my father, Sir.
Ant. And since ye take a pride to shew your follies, I'le muster 'em, and all the world shall view 'em.
Leo. What heat is this? the Kings eyes speak his anger.
Ant. Thou hast abus'd thy youth, drawn to thy fellowship Instead of Arts and Arms, a Womans kisses, The subtilties, and soft heats of a Harlot.
Dem. Good Sir, mistake her not.
Ant. A Witch, a Sorceress:
I tell thee but the truth; and hear Demetrius,
Which has so dealt upon thy bloud with charms,
Devilish and dark; so lockt up all thy vertues;
So pluckt thee back from what thou sprungst from, glorious.