+San.+ Deceit of timorous modesty! Traitors To love your blushes are: your fears are envious Of your delights. Let's vanish hence, and ne'er To th' vulgar eye appear, till we, Grown old in pleasure, be transform'd t' a vine Or ivy, so for ever to entwine. +Cle.+ Then I unveil. +San.+ O, fly into my arms, As a rich odour to the ravish'd sense! Perfume me with thy kisses. +Cle.+ Stay, my lord! Actions of moment (as I take this is) Must be maturely thought on. I have call'd My reason to account. +San.+ Your reason, madam! +Cle.+ Yes, my good lord: that only doth distinguish A woman from brute beasts; or, what's more sensual, A vain loose man. What sin scandals my carriage, To give encouragement to this presumption? What privileg'd this attempt? +San.+ That tempting beauty. +Cle.+ It is a traitor then to my pure thoughts; And, to preserve your eye, would it were wrinkled: I could much easier suffer the reproach Of age than your bold courtship. If a lady Be young and sportive, use curiosity, And perhaps art, to help where nature seem'd Imperfect in her work, will you, from the False argument of your own loose blood, conclude Her guilty? Or, if she select a friend, Whose innocence gives warrant to her faith, Will you infer their whispers have no aim But that of brothels? 'Cause you find yourself Nought but loose flesh, will you turn heretic, And thence deny the soul? +San.+ This language, madam, Sounds nothing to the purpose of our meeting. +Cle.+ More to the benefit. But in your patent, 'Mong all the privileges of a Conde, Where find you lust inserted? Without which, Till age hath made you wise or impotent, You think your honour is defective. 'Cause Your clothes are handsome and mine too, must we Deform our minds? Is it sufficient motive To sin, if opportunity and youth Persuade us? Such as you are those foul plagues Infect the air which breathes our fame, and make The cautious sirs o' th' country shun us. +San.+ Madam! +Cle.+ When we admit you to our bed-chamber, Powder, or haply bathe before you; what Of honour's here more than a groom may boast Our maids are tir'd with? Yet this with a smile Is whisper'd to your friend, and you infer How easy a more near approach will be. My lord, learn virtue, and your wit may then Not serve you to so fond a purpose. If That courage you are famed for be no slander, Go to the wars. 'Twill be a far less maim To lose an eye there than your honour here. If peace enamour you, and the court, live honest: And hope the heir, who shall succeed you, may Be yours. Revenge destroys more chastity Than all the temptings of such lords as you. +San.+ You shall not talk me, madam, from that pleasure This hour doth promise me.