VEN. Indeed, I'll tell him so. O, more uncivil, more unnatural, Than those base-titled creatures that look downward; Why does not heaven turn black, or with a frown Undo the world? Why does not earth start up, And strike the sins that tread upon't? O, Were't not for gold and women, there would be no damnation. Hell would look like a lord's great kitchen without fire in't. But 'twas decreed, before the world began, That they should be the hooks to catch at man. [_Exit._ _Enter_ LUSURIOSO, _with_ HIPPOLITO. LUS. I much applaud Thy judgment; thou art well-read in thy fellows,[51] And 'tis the deepest art to study man. I know this, which I never learnt in schools, The world's divided into knaves and fools. HIP. Knave in your face--my lord behind your back. [_Aside._ LUS. And I much thank thee, that thou hast preferr'd A fellow of discourse, well-mingled, And whose brain time hath season'd. HIP. True, my lord, We shall find season once, I hope. O villain! To make such an unnatural slave of me--but---- [_Aside._ LUS. Mass, here he comes. HIP. And now shall I have free leave to depart. [_Aside._ LUS. Your absence, leave us. HIP. Are not my thoughts true? [_Aside._ I must remove; but, brother, you may stay. Heart! we are both made bawds a new-found way! [_Exit._ _Enter_ VENDICE. LUS. Now we're an even number, a third man's dangerous, Especially her brother;--say, be free, Have I a pleasure toward------ VEN. O my lord! LUS. Ravish me in thine answer; art thou rare? Hast thou beguil'd her of salvation, And rubb'd hell o'er with honey? Is she a woman? VEN. In all but in desire. LUS. Then she's in nothing--I bate[52] in courage now. VEN. The words I brought Might well have made indifferent honest naught. A right good woman in these days is chang'd Into white money with less labour far: Many a maid has turn'd to Mahomet With easier working: I durst undertake, Upon the pawn and forfeit of my life, With half those words to flat a Puritan's wife. But she is close and good;--yet 'tis a doubt By this time. O, the mother, the mother! LUS. I never thought their sex had been a wonder, Until this minute. What fruit from the mother? VEN. Now must I blister my soul, be forsworn, Or shame the woman that receiv'd me first. I will be true: thou liv'st not to proclaim. Spoke to a dying man, shame has no shame. [_Aside._ My lord. LUS. Who's that? VEN. Here's none but I, my lord. LUS. What should thy haste utter? VEN. Comfort.