Men. Madam, your excellency is graciously encountered: I have been writing passionate flashes in honour of—
[Exit Ferneze.
Aurel. Out, villain, villain!
O judgment, where have been my eyes? what
Bewitch’d election made me dote on thee? 80
What sorcery made me love thee? But, be gone;
Bury thy head. O, that I could do more
Than loath thee! hence, worst of ill!
No reason ask, our reason is our will.[392]
[Exit with Maquerelle.
Men. Women! nay, Furies; nay, worse; for they torment only the bad, but women good and bad. Damnation of mankind! Breath, hast thou praised
them for this? and is’t you, Ferneze, are wriggled into smock-grace? sit sure. O, that I could rail against these monsters in nature, models of hell, curse of the earth, women! that dare attempt anything, and what they attempt they care not how they accomplish; without all premeditation or prevention; rash in asking, desperate in working, impatient in suffering, extreme in desiring, slaves unto appetite, mistresses in dissembling, only constant in unconstancy, only perfect in counterfeiting: their words are feigned, their eyes forged, their sighs[393] dissembled, their looks counterfeit, their hair false, their given hopes deceitful, their very breath artificial: their blood is their only god; bad clothes, and old age, are only the devils they tremble at. That I could rail now! 102
Enter Pietro, his sword drawn.
Pietro. A mischief fill thy throat, thou foul-jaw’d slave! Say thy prayers.
Men. I ha’ forgot ’em.
Pietro. Thou shalt die.