_Cell._ Do not despair: nor do not think too boldly, I dare abuse my promise, 'twas your friends And so fast tyed, I thought no time could ruin: But so much has your danger, and that spell The powerful name of friend, prevail'd above him To whom I ever owe obedience, That here I am, by his command to cure ye, Nay more for ever, by his full resignment, And willingly I ratifie it. _Fra._ Hold for Heaven sake, Must my friends misery make me a triumph? Bear I that noble name, to be a Traitor? O vertuous goodness, keep thy self untainted: You have no power to yield, nor he to render, Nor I to take: I am resolv'd to die first. _Val._ Ha! saist thou so? nay then thou shalt not perish. _Fra._ And though I love ye above the light shines on me, Beyond the wealth of Kingdoms, free content, Sooner would snatch at such a blessing offer'd Than at my pardon'd life by the law forfeited, Yet, yet O noble Beauty, yet O Paradise For you are all the wonder reveal'd of it, Yet is a gratitude to be preserv'd, A worthy gratitude to one most worthy The name, and nobleness of friends. _Cell._ Pray tell me If I had never known that Gentleman, Would not you willingly embrace my offer? _Fra._ Do you make a doubt? _Cell._ And can ye be unwilling He being old and impotent? his aim too Levell'd at you, for your good? not constrain'd, But out of cure, and counsel? Alas consider, Play but the Woman with me, and consider As he himself does, and I now dare see it, Truly consider, Sir, what misery. _Fra._ For vertues sake take heed. _Cell._ What loss of youth, What everlasting banishment from that Our years do only covet to arrive at, Equal affections [_texts blank_] and shot together: What living name can dead age leave behind him, What art of memory but fruitless doating? _Fra._ This cannot be. _Cell._ To you unless ye apply it With more and firmer faith, and so digest it, I speak but of things possible, not done Nor like to be, a Posset cures your sickness, And yet I know ye grieve this; and howsoever The worthiness of friend may make ye stagger, Which is a fair thing in ye, yet my Patient, My gentle Patient, I would fain say more If you would understand. _Val._ O cruel Woman. _Cell._ Yet sure your sickness is not so forgetful, Nor you so willing to be lost. _Fra._ Pray stay there: Me thinks you are not fair now; me thinks more, That modest vertue, men delivered of you, Shews but like shadow to me, thin, and fading. _Val._ Excellent friend. _Fra._ Ye have no share in goodness: Ye are belyed; you are not _Cellide_, The modest, immaculate: who are ye? For I will know: what Devil, to do mischief Unto my vertuous friend, hath shifted shapes With that unblemished beauty?