_Val._ Would you had tryed it, That you might know the vertue but to suffer, Your anger though it be unjust and insolent, Sits handsomer upon you than your scorn, To do a wilfull ill and glory in it, Is to do it double, double to be damn'd too. _Fred._ Hast thou not found a loving and free Prince, High in his favours too; that has confer'd Such hearts ease, and such heaps of comfort on thee, All thou cou'dst ask? _Val._ You are grown a tyrant too Upon so suffering, and so still a subject; You have put upon me such a punishment, That if your youth were honest it would blush at: But you are a shame to nature, as to vertue. Pull not my rage upon ye, 'tis so just, It will give way to no respect; my life, My innocent life, I dare maintain it Sir, Like a wanton prodigal you have flung away, Had I a thousand more I would allow 'em, And be as careless of 'em as your will is; But to deny those rights the Law hath given me, The holy Law, and make her life the penance, Is such a studied and unheard of malice, No heart that is not hired from Hell dare think of; To do it then too, when my hopes were high, High as my Blood, all my desires upon me, My free affections ready to embrace her, _Enter_ Cassandra. And she mine own; do you smile at this? is't done well? Is there not Heaven above you that sees all? [_Exit_ Val. _Fred._ Come hither Time, how does your noble Mistriss? _Cas._ As a Gentlewoman may do in her case that's newly married, Sir: Sickly sometimes, and fond on't, like your Majesty. _Fred._ She is breeding then? _Cas._ She wants much of her colour, And has her qualms as Ladies use to have, Sir, And her disgusts. _Fred._ And keeps her Chamber? _Cas._ Yes Sir. _Fred._ And eats good Broths and Jellies. _Cas._ I am sure she sighs, Sir, and weeps, good Lady. _Fred._ Alas, good Lady, for it, She should have one could comfort her, _Cassandra_, Could turn those tears to joys, a lusty Comforter. _Cas._ A comfortable man does well at all hours, For he brings comfortable things. _Fred._ Come hither, & hold your fann between, you have eaten Onions, Her breath stinks like a Fox, her teeth are contagious, These old women are all Elder-Pipes, do ye mark me? [_Gives a Purse._ _Cas._ Yes, Sir, but does your Grace think I am fit, That am both old and vertuous? _Fred._ Therefore the fitter, the older still the better, I know thou art as holy as an old Cope, Yet upon necessary use-- _Cas._ 'Tis true, Sir. _Fred._ Her feeling sense is fierce still, speak unto her, You are familiar; speak I say, unto her, Speak to the purpose; tell her this, and this.