_Al._ All's one for that; read these and then be satisfi'd, A few more private rules I have gather'd for ye, Read 'em, and well observe 'em: so I leave ye. [_Exit._ _Viol._ A wond[ro]us wicked woman: shame go with thee. _Hon._ What new _Pandoras_ box is this? I'le see it, Though presently I tear it. Read Thine _Viola_, 'Tis in our own wills to believe and follow. _Worthy_ Honora, _as you have begun In vertues spotless school, so forward run: Pursue that nobleness, and chaste desire You ever had, burn in that holy fire; And a white Martyr to fair memorie Give up your name, unsoil'd of infamy._ How's this? Read yours out Sister: this amazes me. Vio. _Fear not thou yet unblasted Violet, Nor let my wanton words a doubt beget, Live in that peace and sweetness of thy bud, Remember whose thou art, and grow still good. Remember what thou art, and stand a storie Fit for thy noble Sex, and thine own glorie._ _Hon._ I know not what to think. _Viol._ Sure a good woman, An excellent woman, Sister. _Hon._ It confounds me; Let 'em use all their arts, if these be their ends, The Court I say breeds the best foes and friends. Come, let's be honest wench, and doe our best service. _Viol._ A most excellent woman, I will love her. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._ _Enter_ Olympia _with a Casket, and_ Alinda. _Al._ Madam, the Duke has sent for the two Ladies. _Olym._ I prethee go: I know thy thoughts are with him. Go, go _Alinda_, do not mock me more. I have found thy heart wench, do not wrong thy Mistris, Thy too much loving Mistris: do not abuse her. _Al._ By your own fair hands I understand ye not. _Olym._ By thy own fair eyes I understand thee too much, Too far, and built a faith there thou hast ruin'd. Goe, and enjoy thy wish, thy youth, thy pleasure, Enjoy the greatness no doubt he has promised, Enjoy the service of all eyes that see thee, The glory thou hast aim'd at, and the triumph: Only this last love I ask, forget thy Mistris. _Al._ Oh, who has wrong'd me? who has ruin'd me? Poor wretched Girle, what poyson is flung on thee? Excellent vertue, from whence flows this anger? _Ol._ Go, ask my Brother, ask the faith thou gav'st me, Ask all my favours to thee, ask my love, Last, thy forgetfulness of good: then flye me, For we must part _Alinda_. _Al._ You are weary of me; I must confess, I was never worth your service, Your bounteous favours less; but that my duty, My ready will, and all I had to serve ye-- O Heaven thou know'st my honestie.