Free. At Master Shatewe’s the jeweller’s, to whose breast
I’ll trust our secret purpose.
Mal. Ay, rest yourself;
Each man hath follies.
Free. But those worst of all,
Who, with a willing eye, do seeing fall.
Mal. ’Tis true, but truth seems folly in madness’ spectacles. I am not now myself, no man: farewell.
Free. Farewell. 30
Mal. When woman’s in the heart, in the soul hell.
[Exit Malheureux.
Free. Now, repentance, the fool’s whip, seize thee;
Nay, if there be no means I’ll be thy friend,
But not thy vices’; and with greatest sense
I’ll force thee feel thy errors to the worst;
The wildest of dangers thou shalt sink into.
No jeweller shall see me; I will lurk
Where none shall know or think; close I’ll withdraw,
And leave thee with two friends—a whore and knave;
But is this virtue in me? No, not pure, 40
Nothing extremely best with us endures;
No use in simple purities; the elements
Are mix’d for use; silver without allay[83]
Is all too eager[84] to be wrought for use:
Nor precise virtues, ever purely good,
Holds useful size with temper of weak blood.
Then let my course be borne, though with side-wind;
The end being good, the means are well assign’d.
[Exit.