Enter Malheureux.
Free. My friend, wished hours! What news from Babylon?
How does the woman of sin and natural concupiscence?
Mal. The eldest child of nature ne’er beheld
So damn’d a creature. 230
Free. What! In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas?
Which way bears the tide?
Mal. Dear loved sir, I find a mind courageously vicious may be put on a desperate security; but can never be blessed with a firm enjoying and self-satisfaction.
Free. What passion is this, my dear Lindabrides?[61]
Mal. ’Tis well; we both may jest; I ha’ been tempted to your death.
Free. What, is the rampant cocatrice grown mad for the loss of her men? 241
Mal. Devilishly mad.