_Cas._ Why a Whore, Madam? If every Woman that upon necessity Did a good turn, for there's the main point, mark it, Were term'd a Whore, who would be honest, Madam? Your Lords life, and your own are now in hazard, Two precious lives may be redeem'd with nothing, Little or nothing; say an hours or days sport, Or such a toy, the end to it is wantonness. (That we call lust that maidens lose their fame for) But a compell'd necessity of honour, Fair as the day, and clear as innocence, Upon my life and conscience, a direct way-- _Evan._ To be a Rascal. _Cas._ 'Tis a kind of Rape too, That keeps you clear, for where your will's compell'd Though you yield up your Body you are safe still. _Evan._ Thou art grown a learned Bawd, I ever look'd Thy great sufficiency would break out. _Cas._ You may, You that are young, and fair scorn us old Creatures, But you must know my years, ere you be wise, Lady, And my experience too; say the King loved ye? Say it were nothing else? _Evan._ I, marry wench, now thou comest to me. _Cas._ Do you think Princes favours are such sleight things, To fling away when you please? there be young Ladies Both fair and honourable, that would leap to reach 'em, And leap aloft too. _Evan._ Such are light enough; I am no Vaulter, Wench, but canst thou tell me, Though he be a King, whether he be sound or no? I would not give my Youth up to infection. _Cas._ As sound as honour ought to be, I think, Lady; Go to, be wise, I do not bid you try him; But if he love you well, and you neglect him, Your Lords life hanging on the hazard of it, If you be so wilful proud. _Evan._ Thou speakest to the point still; But when I have lain with him, what am I then, Gentlewoman? _Cas._ What are you? why, the same you are now, a woman, A vertuous Woman, and a noble Woman, Touching at what is noble, you become so. Had _Lucrece_ e'r been thought of but for _Tarquin_? She was before a simple unknown Woman, When she was ravish'd, she was a reverend Saint; And do you think she yielded not a little? And had a kind of will to have been re-ravish'd? Believe it, yes: there are a thousand stories Of wondrous loyal Women, that have slipt, But it has been on the ice of tender honour, That kept 'em cool still to the World. I think you are blest, That have such an occasion in your hands to beget a Chronicle, A faithful one. _Evan._ It must needs be much honour. _Cas._ As you may make it, infinite, and safe too, And when 'tis done, your Lord and you may live So quietly, and peaceably together, And be what you please. _Evan._ But suppose this, Wench, The King should so delight me with his Company, I should forget my Lord, and no more look on him.