_Arc._ I send ye not, Like parts infected, to draw more corruption; Like Spiders to grow great, with growing evil: With your own Vertues season'd, and my prayers, The Card of goodness in your minds, that shows ye When ye sail false; the needle toucht with honour, That through the blackest storms, still points at happiness; Your Bodies the tall barks, rib'd round with goodness, Your Heavenly Souls the Pilots, thus I send you; Thus I prepare your Voyage; sound before ye, And ever as you sail through this Worlds Vanity, Discover Sholes, Rocks, Quicksands, cry out to ye, Like a good Master tack about for Honour: The Court is Vertue's School, at least it should be; Nearer the Sun the Mine lies, the metal's purer: Be it granted, if the spring be once infected, Those Branches that flow from him must run muddy; Say you find some Sins there, and those no small ones, And they like lazie fits begin to shake ye: Say they affect your strengths, my happy Children, Great things through greatest hazards are atchiev'd still, And then they shine, then goodness has his glory, His Crown fast rivetted, then time moves under, Where, through the mist of errors, like the Sun, Through thick and pitchy Clouds, he breaks out nobly. _Hon._ I thank you Sir, you have made me half a Souldier, I will to Court most willingly, most fondly. And if there be such stirring things amongst 'em, Such Travellers into _Virginia_ As Fame reports, if they can win me, take me; I think I have a close Ward, and a sure one; An honest mind I hope, 'tis petticoat-proof, Chain-proof, and Jewel-proof; I know 'tis Gold-proof, A Coach and four Horses cannot draw me from it: As for your handsome Faces, and filed Tongues, Curl'd Millers heads, I have another word for them, And yet I'll flatter too, as fast as they do, And lye, but not as lewdly; Come, be valiant, Sister, She that dares not stand the push o'th' Court, dares nothing, And yet come off ungraced: Sir, like you, We both affect great dangers now, and the World shall see All glory lies not in Mans Victorie. _Arc._ Mine own _Honora_. _Viol._ I am very fearful, Would I were stronger built: you would have me honest? _Arc._ Or not at all my _Viola_. _Viol._ I'll think on't, For 'tis no easie promise, and live there: Do you think we shall do well? _Hon._ Why, what should aile us? _Viol._ Certain they'll tempt us strongly; beside the glory Which Women may affect, they are handsom Gentlemen, Every part speaks: nor is it one denial, Nor two, nor ten; from every look we give 'em, They'll frame a hope; even from our prayers, promises. _Hon._ Let 'em feed so, and be fat; there is no fear, wench, I[f] thou beest fast to thy self. _Viol._ I hope I shall be; And your example will work more. _Enter_ Theodore. _Hon._ Thou shalt not want it.