DISSIMULATION.
Yonder come some: we must take our flight.
[Exeunt OMNES.
SIMPLICITY.
Birds of a feather will fly together; but when they be taken,
then are they baken.
Yonder comes a customer: I'll to my stall.
Love, Lucre, and Conscience, blindman-buff to you all.
NEMO.
Conscience, Love, Lucre, ladies all, what cheer?
How do ye like the seats you sit upon?
CONSCIENCE.
O pure unspotted Nemo, sole paragon
Of Love, of Conscience and perfection;
The marble of remorse I sit upon
Sweats scalding drops, like bitter brinish tears.
NEMO.
So should remorse, when Conscience feels her guilt.
But, gentle Love, how feelest thou thy flint?
LOVE.
O, sharp and cold: I freeze unto my seat:
The flint holds fire, and yet I feel no heat.
But am benumb'd and frozen every joint.
NEMO.
O Love, so cold is charity in these times.
Lucre, how sit you?
LUCRE.
Upon a heavy stone, not half so cold, not half so hot as theirs,
But of some secret power, for I do find and sensibly feel,
That I from it exhale an earthly cold,
And it from me doth draw a kindly heat.
NEMO.
Such force hath care of Lucre in itself
To cool the heart and draw the vital spirits;
And such the true condition of you three;
Remorse of Conscience, Charity of Love,
And Care of Lucre; such your uses be.
But, ladies, now your sorrow lay aside:
Frolic, fair dames; an unexpected good
Is imminent through me unto you all.
Three lords there be, your native countrymen,
In London bred, as you yourselves have been,
Which covet you for honourable wives,
And presently will come to visit you.
Be not abashed at your base attire,
I shall provide you friends to deck you all.
If I command, stand up, else sit you still.
Lo, where they come.