Fra. De man does rave; tinck a got, tinck a got, and bid de flesh, de world, and the dible, farewell. 31
Mal. Farewell!
Free. Farewell!
[Freevill discovers himself.
Fra. Vat ist you see?—Hah!
Free. Sir, your pardon, with my this defence:
Do not forget protested violence
Of your low affections: no requests,
No arguments of reason, no known danger,
No assured wicked bloodiness,
Could draw your heart from this damnation. 40
Mal. Why, stay!
Fra. Unprosperous devil, vat sall me do now?
Free. Therefore, to force you from the truer danger,
I wrought the feignèd; suffering this fair devil
In shape of woman to make good her plot:
And, knowing that the hook was deeply fast,
I gave her line at will, till, with her own vain strivings,
See here she’s tired. O thou comely damnation!
Dost think that vice is not to be withstood?
O what is woman, merely made of blood! 50