Bravo. 'Tis my vocation.
Luc. Leave it; 'tis damnable;
And thou the worst and basest of all villains:
It had been better for the womb that bare thee,
If it had travail'd with a pestilence.
What seed of tigers could beget thee to
Such bold and rash attempts for a small lucre,
Which will be straight as ill-spent as 'twas got,
To destroy that whose essence is divine;
Souls, in themselves more pure than are the heavens,
Or thy ill-boding stars; more worth than all
The treasure lock'd up in the heart of earth;
And yet do this unmov'd or unprovok'd.
Bravo. I have no other means nor way of living.
Luc. 'Twere better perish than be so supported;
There are a thousand courses to subsist by.
Bravo. Ay, but a free and daring spirit scorns
To stoop to servile ways, but will choose rather
To purchase his revenue from his sword.
Luc. I see you are grown obdurate in your crimes,
Founded to vice, lost to all piety;
Without the apprehension of what wrong
You do your country in depriving her
Of those she now enjoys as useful members,
And killing their posterity who, perhaps,
Might with their art or industry advance her.
Bravo. What courteous itch, I wonder, has possess'd
Your virtuous ladyship to give me advice?
Best keep your wits until you get a husband,
Who may perhaps require your learned counsel.
Luc. 'Tis true, such as do act thy villanies,
Hate to be told or think of them; but hear me.
Hast thou no sense nor no remorse of soul?
No thought of any Deity who, though
It spare thee for awhile, will send at last
A quick return of vengeance on thy head,
And dart thee down like Phaeton?
Bravo. Sweet virgin,
Faces[329] about to some other discourse:
I cannot relish this.
Luc. So I believe; but yet
Compose your thoughts for speedy penitence,
Your life for an amendment, or I vow
To lay your actions open to the senate.