Frank. I shall write effectually. [Exit.
Sir Arth. Go thy way, cuckoo;—have I caught the young man?
One trouble, then, is freed. He that will feast
At other’s cost must be a bold-faced guest.
Re-enter Winnifred in a riding-suit.
Win, I have heard the news; all now is safe;
The worst is past: thy lip, wench [Kisses her]: I must bid
Farewell, for fashion’s sake; but I will visit thee
Suddenly, girl. This was cleanly carried;
Ha! was’t not, Win?
Win. Then were my happiness,
That I in heart repent I did not bring him
The dower of a virginity. Sir, forgive me;
I have been much to blame: had not my lewdness[413]
Given way to your immoderate waste of virtue,
You had not with such eagerness pursued
The error of your goodness.
Sir Arth. Dear, dear Win,
I hug this art of thine; it shows how cleanly
Thou canst beguile, in case occasion serve
To practise; it becomes thee: now we share
Free scope enough, without control or fear,
To interchange our pleasures; we will surfeit
In our embraces, wench. Come, tell me, when
Wilt thou appoint a meeting?
Win. What to do?
Sir Arth. Good, good, to con the lesson of our loves,
Our secret game.
Win. O, blush to speak it further!
As you’re a noble gentleman, forget
A sin so monstrous: ’tis not gently done
To open a cured wound: I know you speak
For trial; ’troth, you need not.
Sir Arth. I for trial?
Not I, by this good sunshine!