Dul. Why, canst thou not conceal a secret?
Phi. Yes, as long as it is a secret, but when two know it, how can it be a secret? and, indeed, with what justice can you expect secrecy in me that cannot be private to yourself? 179
Dul. Faith, Philocalia, I must of force trust thy silence; for my breast breaks if I confer not my thoughts upon thee.
Phi. You may trust my silence; I can command that; but if I chance to be questioned I must speak truth: I can conceal, but not deny my knowledge. That must command me.
Dul. Fie on these philosophical discoursing women! Prithee confer with me like a creature made of flesh and blood, and tell me if it be not a scandal to the soul of all being, proportion, that I, a female of fifteen,[210] of a lightsome and civil discretion—healthy, lusty, vigorous, full, and idle—should for ever be shackled to the crampy shins of a wayward, dull, sour, austere, rough, rheumy threescore and four? 194
Phi. Nay, threescore and ten at the least.
Dul. Now, Heaven bless me! as it is pity that every knave is not a fool, so it is shame that every old man is not, and resteth not, a widower. They say in China, when women are past child-bearing, they are all burnt to make gunpowder. I wonder what men should be done withal when they are past child-getting. Yet, upon my love, Philocalia (which with ladies is often above their honour), I do even dote upon the best part of the duke.
Phi. What’s that? 204
Dul. His son; yes, sooth, and so love him, that I must marry him.
Phi. And wherefore love him so, to marry him?