_Chi._ As 'tis ten to one. _Pro._ Why what remains, but new nets for the purchase? _Chi._ Let's go consider then: and if all fail, This is the first quick Eele, that sav'd her tail. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _Enter_ Lucina, Ardelia _and_ Phorba. _Ardel._ You still insist upon that Idol, Honour, Can it renew your youth, can it add wealth, That takes off wrinkles: can it draw mens eyes, To gaze upon you in your age? can honour, That truly is a Saint to none but Souldiers, And look'd into, bears no reward but danger, Leave you the most respected person living? Or can the common kisses of a Husband, (Which to a sprightly Lady is a labour) Make ye almost Immortal? ye are cozen'd, The honour of a woman is her praises; The way to get these, to be seen, and sought too, And not to bury such a happy sweetness Under a smoaky roof. _Luci._ I'le hear no more. _Phor._ That white, and red, and all that blessed beauty, Kept from the eyes, that make it so, is nothing; Then you are rarely fair, when men proclaim it; The _Phenix_, were she never seen, were doubted; That most unvalued Horn the Unicorn Bears to oppose the Huntsman, were it nothing But tale, and meer tradition, would help no man; But when the vertue's known, the honour's doubled: Vertue is either lame, or not at all, And love a Sacriledge, and not a Saint, When it bars up the way to mens Petitions. _Ard._ Nay ye shall love your Husband too; we come not To make a Monster of ye. _Luc._ Are ye women? _Ard._ You'll find us so, and women you shall thank too, If you have grace to make your use. _Luc._ Fye on ye. _Phor._ Alas poor bashful Lady, by my soul, Had ye no other vertue, but your blushes, And I a man, I should run mad for those: How daintily they set her off, how sweetly! _Ard._ Come Goddess, come, you move too near the earth, It must not be, a better Orb stayes for you: Here: be a Maid, and take 'em. _Luc._ Pray leave me. _Phor._ That were a sin sweet Lady, and a way To make us guilty of your melancholy: You must not be alone; in conversation Doubts are resolv'd, and what sticks near the conscience Made easie, and allowable. _Luc._ Ye are Devils. _Ard._ That you may one day bless for your damnation.