VOT. You put to me A business that will do my words more shame, Than ever they got honour among women. Lascivious courtings among sinful mistresses Come ever seasonable, please best. But let the boldest ruffian touch the ear Of modest ladies with adulterous sounds, Their very looks confound him, and force grace Into that cheek, where impudence sets her seal; That work is never undertook with courage, That makes his master blush. However, sir, What profit can return to you by knowing That which you do already with more toil? Must a man needs, in having a rich diamond. Put it between a hammer and an anvil, And not believing the true worth and value, Break it in pieces to find out the goodness, And in the finding lose it? Good sir, think on't-- Nor does it taste of wit to try their strengths That are created sickly, nor of manhood. We ought not to put blocks in women's ways, For some too often fall upon plain ground. Let me dissuade you, sir! ANS. Have I a friend, And has my love so little interest in him, That I must trust some stranger with my heart, And go to seek him out! VOT. Nay, hark you, sir! I am so jealous of your weaknesses, That rather than you should lie prostituted Before a stranger's triumph, I would venture A whole hour's shaming for you. ANS. Be worth thy word then. _Enter_ WIFE. Yonder she comes. I'll have an ear to you both; I love to have such things at the first hand. [_Aside and Exit._ VOT. I'll put him off with somewhat; guile in this Falls in with honest dealing. O, who would move Adultery to yon face! so rude a sin May not come near the meekness of her eye; My client's cause looks so dishonestly, I'll ne'er be seen to plead in't. [_Aside._ WIFE. What, Votarius! VOT. Good morrow, virtuous madam. WIFE. Was my Lord Seen lately here? VOT. He's newly walked forth, lady. WIFE. How was he attended. VOT. Faith, I think with none, madam. WIFE. That sorrow for the king his brother's fortune Prevails too much with him, and leads him strangely From company and delight. VOT. How she's beguiled in him! There's no such natural touch, search all his bosom. [_Aside._ That griefs too bold with him, indeed, sweet madam, And draws him from the pleasure of his time, But 'tis a business of affection, That must be done. We owe a pity, madam, To all men's misery, but especially To those afflictions that claim kindred of us; We're forc'd to feel 'em; all compassion else Is but a work of charity: this of nature, And ties our pity in a bond of blood.