Help, help, Lady Treasure, thou goddess of bliss!
At thy hands let me have some consolation.
Treas. I will remain with you, be out of doubt.
Inc. Will ye be packing, you ill-favoured lout?
Visit. Presently, indeed from him thou shalt not go,
And why? because God's will hath not determined so;
But in time thou, Treasure, shalt be turned to rust.
And as for Pleasure he shall now attend on the Just.
Lust. Gog's wounds! these pangs increase evermore.
Inc. And my little finger is spitefully sore;