_Jul._ I behold you willingly, And willingly would yield, but for my credit. The love you first had was preserv'd with honor, The last shall not cry whore; you shall not purchase From me a pleasure, that have equally Lov'd your fair fame as you, at such a rate: Your honesty and virtue must be bankrupt, If I had lov'd your lust, and not your lustre; The glorious lustre of your matchless goodness, I would compel you now to be!--forgive me, Forgive me Sir, how fondly still I love you! Yet nobly too; make the way straight before me, And let but holy _Hymen_ once more guide me, Under the Ax upon the Rack again, Even in the bed of all afflictions, Where nothing sings our Nuptials but dire sorrows, With all my youth and pleasure I'll imbrace you, Make Tyranny and death stand still affrighted, And at our meeting souls amaze our mischiefs; Till when, high heaven defend you, and peace guide you. Be wise and manly, make your fate your own, By being master of a providence, That may controle it. _Vir._ Stay a little with me, My thoughts have chid themselves: may I not kiss you? Upon my truth I am honest. _Jul._ I believe ye; But yet what that may raise in both our fancies, What issues such warm parents breed. _Vir._ I obey you, And take my leave as from the Saint that keeps me. I will be right again, and once more happy In thy unimitable love. _Jul._ I'll pray for ye, And when you fall I have not long to follow. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Sesse, Master, Boteswain, _and_ Gunner, _at one door,_ Martia _and_ Ronvere, _at another._ _Ses._ Now we have got free credit with the Captain. _Mast._ Soft, soft, he's here again: Is not that Lady-- Or have I lost mine eyes? a salt rhume seizes 'em; But I should know that face. _Bots._ Make him not madder, Let him forget the woman; steer a lar-board. _Mast._ He will not kill her. _Bots._ Any thing he meets; He's like a Hornet now, he hums, and buzzes; Nothing but blood and horror. _Mast._ I would save the Lady, For such another Lady. _Bots._ There's the point; And you know there want women of her mettle. _Mast._ 'Tis true, they bring such children now, Such demilancies, Their fathers socks will make them Christning clothes. _Gun._ No more, they view us. _Ses._ You shall play a while, And sun your self in this felicity, You shall you glorious whore, I know you still. But I shall pick an hour when most securely-- I say no more. _Ron._ Do you see those? those are they Shall act your will; come hither my good fellows: You are now the Kings. Are they not goodly fellows? _Mart._ They have bone enough, if they have stout heart to it. _Mast._ Still the old wench.