Spu. No, mad, and think upon't.
Duch. Who would not be reveng'd of such a father,
E'en in the worst way? I would thank that sin,
That could most injure him, and be in league with it.
O, what a grief 'tis that a man should live
But once i' th' world, and then to live a bastard!
The curse o' the womb, the thief of nature,
Begot against the seventh commandment,
Half-damn'd in the conception by the justice
Of that unbribed, everlasting law.
Spu. O, I'd a hot-back'd devil to my father.
Duch. Would not this mad e'en patience, make blood rough?
Who but an eunuch would not sin? his bed,
By one false minute disinherited.
Spu. Ay, there's the vengeance that my birth was wrapp'd in!
I'll be reveng'd for all: now, hate, begin;
I'll call foul incest but a venial sin.
Duch. Cold still! in vain then must a duchess woo?
Spu. Madam, I blush to say what I will do.
Duch. Thence flew sweet comfort. Earnest, and farewell.
[Kisses him.
Spu. O, one incestuous kiss picks open hell.