_Cas._ That's the main hazard, for I tell you truly, I have heard report speak he is an infinite pleasure, Almost above belief; there be some Ladies, And modest to the world too, wondrous modest, That have had the blessedness to try his body, That I have heard proclaim him a new _Hercules_. _Evan._ So strongly able? _Cas._ There will be the danger, You being but a young and tender Lady, Although your mind be good, yet your weak Body, At first encounter too, to meet with one Of his unconquer'd strength. _Evan._ Peace, thou rude Bawd, Thou studied old corruptness, tye thy tongue up, Your hired base tongue; is this your timely counsel? Dost thou seek to make me dote on wickedness? Because 'tis ten times worse than thou deliver'st it? To be a Whore, because he has sufficiency To make a hundred? O thou impudence! Have I reliev'd thy Age to mine own ruine? And worn thee in my Bosome, to betray me? Can years and impotence win nothing on thee That's good and honest, but thou must go on still? And where thy bloud wants heat to sin thy self, Force thy decrepit will to make me wicked? _Cas._ I did but tell ye. _Evan._ What the damnedst Woman, The cunning'st and the skilfull'st Bawd comes short of; If thou hadst liv'd ten Ages to be damn'd in, And exercis'd this Art the Devil taught thee, Thou could'st not have express'd it more exactly. _Cas._ I did not bid you sin. _Evan._ Thou woo'd'st me to it, Thou that art fit for Prayer and the Grave, Thy Body Earth already, and Corruption, Thou taught'st the way; go follow your fine function, There are houses of delight, that want good Matrons, Such grave Instructors, get thee thither, Monster, And read variety of sins to wantons, And when they roar with pains, learn to make plaisters. _Cas._ This we have for our good wills. _Evan._ If e'r I see thee more, Or any thing that's like thee, to affright me, By this fair light I'll spoil thy Bawdery, I'll leave thee neither Eyes nor Nose to grace thee. When thou wantest Bread, and common pity towards thee, _Enter_ Frederick. And art a starving in a Ditch, think of me, Then dye, and let the wandring Bawds lament thee; Be gone, I charge thee leave me. _Cas._ You'll repent this. [_Exit._ _Fred._ She's angry, and t'other crying too, my suit's cold. I'll make your heart ake, stubborn Wench, for this; Turn not so angry from me, I will speak to you, Are you grown proud with your delight, good Lady, So pamper'd with your sport you scorn to know me? _Evan._ I scorn ye not, I would you scorn'd not me, Sir, And forc't me to be weary of my duty, I know your Grace, would I had never seen ye. _Fred._ Because I love you, because I dote upon ye, Because I am a man that seek to please ye.