Ter. She dyes: that sentence poisons her: O life!
What slaue would pledge a King in his owne wife?
Cæl. Welcome, ô poyson, phisicke against lust,
Thou holesome medicine to a constant bloud;
Thou rare Apothecary that canst keepe,
My chastity preseru’d, within this boxe;
Of tempting dust, this painted earthen pot,
That stands vpon the stall of the white soule,
To set the shop out like a flatterer,
To draw the customers of Sinne: come, come,
Thou art no poison, but a dyet-drinke,
To moderate my bloud: White-innocent Wine,
Art thou made guilty of my death? oh no,
For thou thy selfe art poison’d, take me hence,
For Innocence, shall murder Innocence.
Drinkes.
Ter. Holde, holde, thou shalt not dye, my Bride, my wife,
O stop that speedy messenger of death;
O let him not run downe that narrow path,
Which leades vnto thy heart; nor carry newes
To thy remoouing soule, that thou must dye.
Cæl. Tis done already, the Spirituall Court,
Is breaking vp; all Offices discharg’d,
My soule remooues from this weake standing house,
Of fraile mortallity; Deare Father, blesse
Me now and euer: Dearer Man, farewell,
I ioyntly take my leaue of thee and life,
Goe, tell the King thou hast a constant wife.
Ter. I had a constant wife, Ile tell the King;
Vntill the King—what dost thou smile? art thou
A Father?
Sir quin. Yea, smiles on my cheekes arise,
To see how sweetly a true virgin dyes.
Enter Blunt, Crispinus, Fannius, Philocalia, Dicache, Petula, lights before them.
Cris. Sir Walter Terrill, gallants are all ready?