LUS. I've bethought me, If she prove chaste still and immovable, Venture upon the mother; and with gifts, As I will furnish thee, begin with her. VEN. O, fie, fie! that's the wrong end, my lord. 'Tis mere impossible that a mother, by any gifts, should become a bawd to her own daughter! LUS. Nay, then, I see thou'rt but a puisne In the subtle mystery of a woman. Why, 'tis held now no dainty dish: the name Is so in league with age, that nowadays It does eclipse three quarters of a mother. VEN. Does it so, my lord? Let me alone, then, to eclipse the fourth. LUS. Why, well-said--come, I'll furnish thee; but first Swear to be true in all. VEN. True! LUS. Nay, but swear. VEN. Swear?--I hope your honour little doubts my faith. LUS. Yet, for my humour's sake, 'cause I love swearing---- VEN. 'Cause you love swearing, 'slud, I will. LUS. Why, enough! Ere long look to be made of better stuff. VEN. That will do well indeed, my lord. LUS. Attend me. [_Exit._ VEN. O! Now let me burst. I've eaten noble poison; We are made strange fellows, brother, innocent villains! Wilt not be angry, when thou hear'st on't, think'st thou? I' faith, thou shalt: swear me to foul my sister! Sword, I durst make a promise of him to thee; Thou shalt disheir him; it shall be thine honour. And yet, now angry froth is down in me, It would not prove the meanest policy, In this disguise, to try the faith of both. Another might have had the selfsame office; Some slave that would have wrought effectually, Ay, and perhaps o'erwrought 'em; therefore I, Being thought-travell'd, will apply myself Unto the selfsame form, forget my nature, As if no part about me were kin to 'em, So touch 'em;--though I durst almost for good Venture my lands in heaven upon their blood.[30] [_Exit._ _Enter the discontented_ LORD ANTONIO, _whose wife_ _the Duchess's youngest son ravished: he discovering_ _the body of her dead to certain Lords_ _and_ HIPPOLITO. ANT. Draw nearer, lords, and be sad witnesses Of a fair comely building newly fall'n, Being falsely undermin'd. Violent rape Has play'd a glorious act: behold, my lords, A sight that strikes man out of me. PIERO. That virtuous lady! ANT. President for wives! HIP. The blush of many women, whose chaste presence Would e'en call shame up to their cheeks, and make Pale wanton sinners have good colours---- ANT. Dead! Her honour first drank poison, and her life, Being fellows in one house, did pledge her honour. PIERO. O, grief of many!