LUCRE. Well, Usury, Fraud, and Simony, Dissimulation, hearken unto me. My tongue (although in memory it be green) Cannot declare what horrors I have seen; Ne can it enter into mortal ears Unmortified: the furies' fires and fears, The shrieks, the groans, the tortures, and the pains, That any soul for each of you sustains-- No pen can write, how Conscience hath me scourg'd, When with your faults my soul she ever urg'd: Arithmetic doth fail to number all The plagues of Sorrow in the den of thrall. Then tempt me not, nor trouble me no more; I must not use you as I did before. If you be found within fair London's gate, You must to prison, whence we came of late. Conscience will accuse ye, if ye be in sight. FRAUD. That scurvy Conscience works us all the spite. _Enter_ NEMO. USURY. Well, Lucre, yet in thee we have delight. 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. _Enter the three Lords_. My lords, the dames be here. POLICY. Why are they wimpled?[257] Shall they not unmask them? NEMO. It is for your sake; for Policy they do it. POMP. Much may their fortune and their feature be, But what it is we cannot thus discern. NEMO. You shall in time. Lord Pomp; be yet content. PLEASURE. Their fame is more than cause or reason would. May one of these be Pleasure's paragon?