+Luc.+ He my sweetheart! I hate you both alike: that very word Is enough to divorce thee from my pity Past hope of reconcilement; for what mercy Is to be had of two such prodigies? Will you recant yet? speak, will you be honest? +Bravo.+ I think you'll force me to become your patient. +Luc.+ It is the way to heal thee of a sore, Whose cure is supernatural. What art, What mirror is sufficient to demonstrate The foulness of thy guilt, whose leprous mind Is but one stain seas cannot cleanse? Why, murder, 'Tis of all vices the most contrary To every virtue and humanity; For they intend the pleasure and delight, But this the dissolution, of nature. +Bravo.+ She does begin to move me. [_Aside._ +Luc.+ Think of thy sin, It is the heir-apparent unto hell. And has so many and so ugly shapes, His father Pluto and the furies hate To look on their own birth: yet thou dar'st act What they fear to suggest, and sell thy soul To quick perdition. +Bravo.+ This has wak'd me more Into a quicker insight of my evils, That have impal'd me round with horrid shapes, More various than the sev'ral forms of dreams, That wait on Morpheus in his sleepy den. +Luc.+ Then, 'tis a fearful sin, and always labours With the new birth of damn'd inventions And horrid practices: for 'tis so fearful, It dares not walk alone, and where it bides There is no rest nor no security, But a perpetual tempest of despair. +Bravo.+ All this I feel by sad experience. Where have I been, where have I liv'd a stranger, Exil'd from all good thoughts? Never till now Did any beam of grace or good shine on me. +Luc.+ Besides, 'tis so abhorr'd of all that's good That, when this monster lifts his cursed head Above the earth, and wraps it in the clouds, The sun flies back, as loth to stain his rays With such a foul pollution; and night, In emulation of so black a deed, Puts on her darkest robe to cover it. +Bravo.+ O, do not grate too much upon my suff'rings! You have won upon my conscience, and I feel A sting within me tells my troubled soul, That I have trod too long those bloody paths, That lead unto destruction. +Luc.+ Then be sorry, And with repentance purge away thy sin. +Bravo.+ Will all my days and hours consum'd in prayers, My eyes dissolv'd to tears, wash off such crimes? +Luc.+ If they be serious and continued. +Bravo.+ You are a virgin, and your vows are chaste; Do you assist me. +Luc.+ So you'll do the like For me in what I shall propose. +Bravo.+ I will, And joy to be employ'd: there is no thought, Which can proceed from you, but which is virtuous; And 'tis a comfort and a kind of goodness To mix with you in any action.