Scud. Loqui, ut raptus. If what I feel I could express in words,
Methinks I could speak joy enough to men
To banish sadness from all love for ever!
O thou, that reconcil'st the faults of all
That frothy sex, and in thy single self
Confin'st—nay, hast engross'd, virtue enough
To frame a spacious world of virtuous women,
Hadst thou been the beginning of thy sex,
I think the devil in the serpent's skin
Had wanted cunning to o'ercome thy goodness,
And all had liv'd and died in innocency—
The white original creation!
[Knocking within.
Who's there? Come in.
Enter Nevill.
Nev. What, up already, Scudmore! Ne'er a wench
With thee? Not [e'en] thy laundress?
Scud. Good morrow, my dear Nevill.
Nev. What's this? A letter? Sure, it is not so—
A letter written to Hieronimo.[10]
Scud. By heaven! you must excuse me. Come, I know,
You will not wrong my friendship and your manners
To tempt me so.
Nev. Not for the world, my friend.
Farewell, good morrow.
[Exiturus.
Scud. Nay, sir, neither must you
Depart in anger from this friendly hand.
I swear I love you better than all men,
Equally with all virtue in the world;
Yet this would be a key to lead you to
A prize of that importance——
Nev. Worthy friend,
I leave you not in anger: what d'ye mean?
Nor am I of that inquisitive nature fram'd
To thirst to know your private businesses.
Why, they concern not me: if they be ill
And dangerous, 'twould grieve me much to know 'em;
If good, they be so, though I know 'em not.
Nor would I do your love so gross a wrong
To covet to participate affairs
Of that near touch, which your assured love
Doth think not fit, or dares not trust me with.