_Chi._ I never knew that way fail, yet I'le tell ye I offer'd her a gift beyond all yours, That, that had made a Saint start, well consider'd, The Law to be her creature, she to make it, Her mouth to give it, every creature living From her aspect, to draw their good or evil Fix'd in 'em spight of Fortune; a new Nature She should be called, and Mother of all ages, Time should be hers, and what she did, lame vertue Should bless to all posterities: her Air Should give us life, her earth and water feed us. And last, to none but to the _Emperour_, (And then but when she pleas'd to have it so) She should be held for mortal. _Lyc._ And she heard you? _Chi._ Yes, as a Sick man hears a noise, or he That stands condemn'd his judgment, let me perish, But if there can be vertue, if that name Be any thing but name and empty title, If it be so as fools have been pleas'd to feign it, A power that can preserve us after ashes, And make the names of men out-reckon ages, This Woman has a God of vertue in her. _Bal._ I would the Emperor were that God. _Chi._ She has in her All the contempt of glory and vain seeming Of all the _Stoicks_, all the truth of _Christians_, And all their Constancy: Modesty was made When she was first intended: when she blushes It is the holiest thing to look upon; The purest temple of her sect, that ever Made Nature a blest Founder. _Pro._ Is there no way To take this _Phenix_? _Lyc._ None but in her ashes. _Chi._ If she were fat, or any way inclining To ease or pleasure, or affected glory, Proud to be seen and worship'd, 'twere a venture; But on my soul she is chaster than cold Camphire. _Bal._ I think so too; for all the waies of Woman, Like a full sail she bears against: I askt her After my many offers walking with her, And her as many down-denyals, how If the Emperour grown mad with love should force her; She pointed to a _Lucrece_, that hung by, And with an angry look, that from her eyes Shot Vestal fire against me, she departed. _Pro._ This is the first wench I was ever pos'd in, Yet I have brought young loving things together This two and thirty years. _Chi._ I find by this wench The calling of a Bawd to be a strange, A wise, and subtile calling; and for none But staid, discreet, and understanding people: And as the Tutor to great _Alexander_, Would say, a young man should not dare to read His moral books, till after five and twenty; So must that he or she, that will be bawdy, (I mean discreetly bawdy, and be trusted) If they will rise, and gain experience, Well steept in years, and discipline, begin it, I take it 'tis no Boys play. _Bal._ Well, what's thought of? _Pro._ The Emperour must know it. _Lyc._ If the woman should chance to fail too.