Virtue. Is Vice higher than Virtue? that’s my glory,
The higher that thou art, thou art more horrid:
The world will love me for my comeliness.
Fortune. Thine own self loves thyself: why on the heads
Of Agripyne, Montrose, and Longaville,—
English, Scot, French—did Vice clap ugly horns,
But to approve that English, French and Scot,
And all the world else, kneel and honour Vice;
But in no country, Virtue is of price!
Virtue. Yes, in all countries Virtue is of price,
In every kingdom some diviner breast
Is more enamoured of me than the rest.
Have English, Scot and French bowed knees to thee?
Why that’s my glory too, for by their shame,
Men will abhor thee and adore my name.
Fortune, thou art too weak, Vice, th’art a fool
To fight with me; I suffered you awhile
T’eclipse my brightness, but I now will shine,
And make you swear your beauty’s base to mine.
Fortune. Thou art too insolent; see, here’s a court
Of mortal judges; let’s by them be tried,
Which of us three shall most be deified.
Vice. I am content.
Fortune. And I.
Virtue. So am not I.
My judge shall be your sacred deity.[409]
Vice. O miserable me, I am undone. [Exit Vice and her train.
All. O stop the horrid monster.
Virtue. Let her run.
Fortune, who conquers now?