NEV. In troth you were to blame to venture so. Mischiefs find us: we need not mischiefs seek. SCUD. I am not tied to that opinion,[44] They are like women, which do always shun Their lovers and pursuers, and do follow With most rank appetites them that do fly: All mischief that I had is but one woman, And that one woman all mischance to me: Who speaks worst of them, there's[45] the best of men. They are like shadows: mischiefs are like them. Death fears me, for in troth I seek him out. The sun is stale to me; to-morrow morn, As this, 'twill rise: I see no difference. The night doth visit me but in one robe, She brings as many thoughts as she wears stars, When she is pleasant, but no rest at all. For what new strange thing should I covet life, then? Is not she false, whom only I thought true? Shall time to show his strength make Scudmore live, Till (perish the vicious thought!) I love not thee, Or thou, dear friend, remove thy heart from me? NEV. Time is as weak for that, as he is old. Take comfort, and attend this counsel, friend: This match is neither sacred nor [is] sure; Close fate annihilates what opinion makes, And since she is resolved this night to die, If you do not redeem her, give the means, Or her blood (credit me) will spring heavier griefs. Sorer and stranger, in thy oppressed heart, Than her false love before. Besides, 'tis you, My Scudmore, that are false, if you will not Consent to let her make vows good, which were But in a possibility to be broke. This her repentance casts her vice quite off, And if you leave her now, you take it on. Nay, you incur a bloody mortal sin: You do become an actual murderer. If you neglect her, she will kill herself This night by poison, knife, or other means. God gives you power to cross her desperate will, And if you save not, where you may, you kill. SCUD. Why, can my noble and wise friend think still That what a woman says her heart doth mean? Can you believe that she will kill herself? 'Tis a full hour, since she spake the word, And God forbid, that any woman's mind Should not be chang'd and chang'd in a long hour. She is by this time in her lordly arms, And, like pleas'd Juno clasp'd by Jupiter, Forgets the plaints of poor mortality: Such state, such pride, as poets show her in, Incens'd with Jove's loose 'scapes upon the earth, She cast on me at our encountering. As cold and heavy as a rock of ice, In her love to me, which while I there stay'd, My bitter and hot words resolv'd[46] a little: Just as the sun doth ice I soften'd her, And made her drown her fault in her own tears. But think you she holds this flexible vein? No, I'm remov'd, and she's congeal'd again.