_Ag._ Take comfort gentle Madam; you know well Even actual sins committed without will, Are neither sins nor shame, much more compell'd; Your honor's no whit less, your Chastity No whit impair'd, for fair _Merione_ Is more a Virgin yet then all her Sex: Alass, 'tis done; why burne these Tapers now? Wicked and frantick Creatures joy in night. _Leo._ Imagine faire _Merione_ had dream'd She had been ravish'd, would she sit thus then Excruciate? _Mer._ Oh. _Bel._ Fye, fye, how fond is this! What reason for this surfeit of remorse? How many that have done ill and proceed, Women that take degrees in wantonness, Commence, and rise in rudiments of Lust, That feel no scruple of this tenderness? _Mer._ Pish. _Bel._ Nor are you matchless in mishap, even I Do bear an equal part of misery; That love, belov'd, a man the Crown of men, Whom I have friended, and how raised 'tis better That all do know and speak it than my self: When he sail'd low I might have made him mine, Now at his full gale, it is questionable If ever I o're-take him. _Ag._ Wherefore sits My _Phebe_ shawdowed in a sable cloud? Those pearly drops which thou let's fall like beades, Numbring on them thy vestal Orisons Alas are spent in vain: I love thee still, In mids't of all these showres thou sweetlier sent'st, Like a green Meadow on an _April_ day, In which the Sun and west-wind play together, Striving to catch and drink the balmy drops. _Enter Euphanes and Servant._ _Ser._ The Lord _E[u]phanes_ Madam. [_Exit Mer._ _Ag._ Poor _Merione_, She loathes the light, and men. [_Exit._ _Euph._ The virtuous gods preserve my Mistriss. _Bel._ O my most honor'd Lord, those times are chang'd. _Euph._ Let times and men change, could Heaven change, _Euphanes_ Should never change, to be devoted ever To fair _Beliza_, should my load of honors, Or any Grace which you were Author of Detract mine honor, and diminish Grace? The gods forbid: you here behold your servant, Your Creature, gentle Lady, whose sound sleeps You purchas'd for him: whose food you paid for, Whose garments were your charge, whose first preferment You founded: then, what since the gracious Queen Hath, or can rear, is upon your free Land, And you are Mistris of. _Bel._ Mock me not gentle Lord, You shine now in too high a sphear for me, We are Plannets now disjoyn'd for ever: yet Poor superstitious innocent that I am, Give leave that I may lift my hands, and love Not in Idolatry, but perfect zeal: For credit me, I repent nothing I have done, But were it to begin would do the same.