SCAR. To you, sir.
You match'd me to this gentlewoman?
DOC. I know I did, sir.
SCAR. And you will say she is my wife then.
DOC. I have reason, sir, because I married you.
SCAR. O, that such tongues should have the time to lie,
Who teach men how to live, and how to die;
Did not you know my soul had given my faith,
In contract to another? and yet you
Would join this loom unto unlawful twists.
DOC. Sir?
SCAR. But, sir,
You that can see a mote within my eye,
And with a cassock blind your own defects,
I'll teach you this: 'tis better to do ill,
That's never known to us, than of self-will.
Stand these[439], all these, in thy seducing eye,
As scorning life, make them be glad to die.
DOC. Master Scarborow—
SCAR. Here will I write that they, which marry wives,
Unlawful live with strumpets all their lives.
Here will I seal the children that are born,
From wombs unconsecrate, even when their soul
Has her infusion, it registers they are foul,
And shrinks to dwell with them, and in my close
I'll show the world, that such abortive men
Knit hands without free tongues, look red like them
Stand you and you to acts most tragical:
Heaven has dry eyes, when sin makes sinners fall.
DOC. Help, Master Scarborow.