LUCRE.
A blast of wind is world's felicity.
CONSCIENCE.
A blasting wind, and full of misery.
LOVE.
O Conscience, thou hast more tormented me.
LUCRE.
Me hath thy worm, O Conscience, stung too deep.
CONSCIENCE.
But more myself my thoughts tormented have,
Than both of you, in Sorrow's sullen cave;
From whence drawn forth, I find but little rest:
A seat uneasy, wet, and scalding hot,
On this hard stone hath Sorrow me assign'd.
LOVE.
And on my seat myself I frozen find:
No flint more hard, no ice more cold than this.
LUCRE.
I think my seat some mineral stone to be;
I cold from it, it draw[eth] heat from me.
Ladies, consent, and we our seats will view.
CONSCIENCE.
Dare we for shame our stained faces shew?
LOVE.
My double face is single grown again.
LUCRE.
My spots are gone: my skin is smooth and plain.