Cla. Done! Why you have done bravely, why do you tremble?
Fri. An inward Guilt lies heavy on my Soul, and Horror with all her dreadful Forms still haunts my Sight. And did you love this Bonvile?
Cla. The Queen of Beauty never doted more on her beloved Adonis than I on him.
Fri. And now as much you hate him: O the unheard-of Inconstancy of Women! All that they have is feign’d; their Teeth, their Hair, their Blushes, and their Smiles; nay their very Conscience (if any such they have) is feign’d; all counterfeit and false: Let them wash, patch and daub themselves with all the Helps for Nature that Art cou’d e’re invent, still they are Women: And let ’em rob all India of its store to adorn themselves therewith, still are they not all that thing call’d Woman: I know not what to do, for I love and hate this Creature both at once.
Cla. What ails my Friendly?
Fri. But Bonvile yet must feel his Enemies Rage; shall he succeed in Love, whilst I am cross’d in mine? No, it must not, cannot, nay it shall not be.
Four Heads I have, to make a Plot not common;
Malice, Revenge, the Devil, and a Woman.
[Offers to go.
Cla. What will you leave me then?
Fri. Leave thee; yes, forever: Fly thee as I wou’d a Blast from Hell: Thou art thy self a Hell; thy base detested hateful Woman’s Breath infects the purest Air:
May my Friend’s Blood, which I for thee have spilt,
Light on thy Head, and your’s be all the Guilt.
[Exeunt severally.