A Public Place.
Enter Cocledemoy, like a sergeant.
Coc. So, I ha’ lost my sergeant in an ecliptic mist, drunk! horrible drunk! he is fine. So now will I fit myself; I hope this habit will do me no harm; I am an honest man already. Fit, fit, fit, as a punk’s tail, that serves everybody. By this time my vintner thinks of nothing but hell and sulphur; he farts fire and brimstone already. Hang toasts! the execution approacheth.
Enter Sir Lionel, Sir Hubert; Malheureux, pinioned; Tysefew, Beatrice, Freevill, Crispinella, Franceschina, and halberds.
Mal. I do not blush, although condemned by laws;
No kind of death is shameful but the cause,
Which I do know is none; and yet my lust 10
Hath made the one (although not cause) most just.
May I not be reprieved? Freevill is but mislodg’d;
Some lethargy hath seiz’d him—no, much malice;
Do not lay blood upon your souls with good intents;
Men may do ill, and law sometime repents.
[Cocledemoy picks Malheureux’ pocket of his purse.
Sir Lio. Sir, sir, prepare; vain is all lewd defence.
Mal. Conscience was law, but now law’s conscience.
My endless peace is made; and to the poor,—
My purse, my purse!
Coc. Ay, sir; and it shall please you, the poor has your purse already. 21
Mal. You[109] are a wily[110] man.
—But now, thou source of devils, oh, how I loathe
The very memory of that I adored!
He that’s of fair blood, well mien’d, of good breeding,
Best famed, of sweet acquaintance, and true friends,
And would with desperate impudence lose all these,
And hazard landing at this fatal shore,—
Let him ne’er kill, nor steal, but love a whore.