JUDGE.
Thy hateful heart declares thy wicked life:
In the abundance of thy abhomination all evils are rife,—
But what sayest thou, Conscience, to thy accusation,
That art accused to have been bawd unto Lucre, and spotted with
all abhomination?
CONSCIENCE.
What should I say; nay, what would I say in this our naughty living?
LUCRE.
Good Conscience, if thou love me, say nothing. [Aside.
CLERK. Diligence, suffer her not to stand prating. [Let him put her aside.
JUDGE.
What letter is that in thy bosom, Conscience?
Diligence, reach it hither. [Make as though he[229] read it.
Conscience, speak on; let me hear what thou canst say,
For I know in singleness thou wilt a truth bewray.
CONSCIENCE.
My good lord, I have no way to excuse myself:
She hath corrupted me by flattery and her accursed pelf.
What need further trial, sith I, Conscience, am a thousand witnesses?
I cannot choose but condemn us all in living amiss.
Such terror doth affright me, that living I wish to die:
I am afraid there is no spark left for me of God's mercy.
JUDGE.
Conscience, where hadst thou this letter?
CONSCIENCE.
It was put into my bosom by Lucre,
Willing me to keep secret our lascivious living.
I cannot but condemn us all in this thing.
JUDGE.
How now, malapert; stand you still in defence or no?
This letter declares thy guilty Conscience: how sayest thou,
is it not so?
Tell me, why standest thou in a maze? speak quickly.
Hadst thou thy tongue so liberal, and now stand to study?
LUCRE.
O Conscience! thou hast kill'd me; by thee I am overthrown.