_Fred._ I love thee to enjoy thee, my _Evantbe_, To give thee the content of love. _Evan._ Hold, hold, Sir, ye are too fleet, I have some business this way, your Grace can ne'r content. _Sor._ You stubborn toy. _Evan._ Good my Lord _Bawd_ I thank ye. _Fre._ Thou shalt not go believe me, sweet _Evanthe_, So high I will advance thee for this favour, So rich and potent I will raise thy fortune, And thy friends mighty. _Evan._ Good your Grace be patient, I shall make the worst honourable wench that ever was, Shame your discretion, and your choice. _Fred._ Thou shalt not. _Evan._ Shall I be rich do you say, and glorious, And shine above the rest, and scorn all beauties, And mighty in command? _Fred._ Thou shalt be any thing. _Eva._ Let me be honest too, and then I'le thank ye. Have you not such a title to bestow too? If I prove otherwise, I would know but this, Sir; Can all the power you have or all the riches, But tye mens tongues up from discoursing of me, Their eyes from gazing at my glorious folly, Time that shall come, from wondering at my impudence, And they that read my wanton life from curses? Can you do this? have ye this Magick in ye? This is not in your power, though you be a Prince, Sir, No more than evil is in holy Angels, Nor I, I hope: get wantonness confirm'd By Act of Parliament an honesty, And so receiv'd by all, I'le hearken to ye. Heaven guide your Grace. _Fred. Evanthe_, stay a little, I'le no more wantonness, I'le marry thee. _Evan._ What shall the Queen do? _Fred._ I'le be divorced from her. _Eva._ Can you tell why? what has she done against ye? Has she contrived a Treason 'gainst your Person? Abus'd your bed? does disobedience urge ye? _Fred._ That's all one, 'tis my will. _Evan._ 'Tis a most wicked one, A most absurd one, and will show a Monster; I had rather be a Whore, and with less sin, To your present lust, than Queen to your injustice. Yours is no love, Faith and Religion fly it, Nor has no taste of fair affection in it, Some Hellish flame abuses your fair body, And Hellish furies blow it; look behind ye, Divorce ye from a Woman of her beauty, Of her integrity, her piety? Her love to you, to all that honours ye, Her chaste and vertuous love, are these fit causes? What will you do to me, when I have cloy'd ye? You may find time out in eternity, Deceit and violence in heavenly Justice, Life in the grave, and death among the blessed, Ere stain or brack in her sweet reputation. _Sor._ You have fool'd enough, be wise now, and a woman, You have shew'd a modesty sufficient, If not too much for Court. _Evan._ You have shew'd an impudence, A more experienc'd bawd would blush and shake at; You will make my kindred mighty. _Fred._ Prethee hear me.