_Cell._ Do not rave, Sir, Nor let the violence of thoughts distract ye, You shall enjoy me: I am yours: I pity, By those fair eyes I do. _Fra._ O double hearted! O Woman, perfect Woman! what distraction Was meant to mankind when thou was't made a Devil! What an inviting Hell invented! tell me, And if you yet remember what is goodness, Tell me by that, and truth, can one so cherish'd So sainted in the soul of him, whose service Is almost turn'd to superstition, Whose every day endeavours and desires Offer themselves like Incense on your Altar, Whose heart holds no intelligence, but holy And most Religious with his love; whose life (And let it ever be remembred Lady) Is drawn out only for your ends. _Val._ O miracle! _Fra._ Whose all, and every part of man: pray make me Like ready Pages wait upon your pleasures; Whose breath is but your bubble. Can ye, dare ye, Must ye cast off this man, though he were willing, Though in a nobleness, so cross my danger His friendship durst confirm it, without baseness, Without the stain of honour? shall not people Say liberally hereafter, there's the Lady That lost her Father, friend, herself, her faith too, To fawn upon a stranger, for ought you know As faithless as yourself, in love as fruitless. _Val._ Take her with all my heart, thou art so honest That 'tis most necessary I be undone. [With all my soul possess her.] [_Exit_ Val. _Cell._ Till this minute, I scorn'd, and hated ye, and came to cozen ye: Utter'd those things might draw a wonder on me, To make ye mad. _Fra._ Good Heaven, what is this Woman? _Cell._ Nor did your danger, but in charity, Move me a whit: nor you appear unto me More than a common object; yet now truly, Truly, and nobly I do love ye dearly, And from this hour ye are the man I honour, You are the man, the excellence, the honesty, The only friend, and I am glad your sickness Fell so most happily at this time on ye, To make this truth the worlds. _Fra._ Whither do you drive me? _Cell._ Back to your honesty, make that good ever, 'Tis like a strong built Castle, seated high, That draws on all ambitions, still repair it, Still fortifie it: there are thousand foes Besides the Tyrant Beauty, will assail it: Look to your Centinels that watch it hourly, Your eyes, let them not wander. _Fra._ Is this serious? Or does she play still with me? _Cell._ Keep your ears, The two main Ports that may betray ye, strongly From light belief first, then from flattery, Especially where Woman beats the parley: The body of your strength, your noble heart From ever yielding to dishonest ends, Rig'd round about with vertue, that no breaches, No subtil [mynes] may meet ye.