Ans. How now, Votarius! what's the news for us?
Vot. You set me to a task, sir, that will find
Ten ages work enough, and then unfinish'd.
Bring sin before her! why, it stands more quaking,
Than if a judge should frown on't; three such fits
Would shake it into goodness, and quite beggar
The under kingdom. Not the art of man,
Woman, or devil—
Ans. O, peace, man! prythee, peace!—
Vot. Can make her fit for lust.
Ans. Yet again, sir?
Where lives that mistress of thine, Votarius?
That taught thee to dissemble: I'd fain learn.
She makes good scholars.
Vox. How, my lord!
Ans. Thou art the son of falsehood: prythee, leave me.
How truly constant, charitable and helpful
Is woman unto woman in affairs,
That touch affection and the peace of spirit!
But man to man how crooked and unkind!
I thank my jealousy, I heard thee all,
For I heard nothing: now thou'rt sure I did.
Vot. Now, by this light, then, wipe but off this score,
Since you're so bent, and if I ever run
In debt again to falsehood and dissemblance,
For want of better means, tear the remembrance of me
From your best thoughts.
Ans. For thy vows' sake, I pardon thee.
Thy oath is now sufficient watch itself
Over thy actions: I discharge my jealousy:
I've no more use for't now; to give thee way,
I'll have an absence made purposely for thee,
And presently take horse. I'll leave behind me
An opportunity, that shall fear no starting,
Let but thy pains deserve it.
Vot. I am bound to't.