_Bac._ Yes you may tell the world And do you think I am so vain to hope You will not? you can tell the world but this, That I am a widow, full of tears in shew, My Husband dead: And one that lov'd me so, Hardly a week, forgot my modestie, And caught with youth and greatness, Gave my self to live in sin with you; This you may tell: And this I do deserve. _Leu._ Why dost thou think me so base to tell! These limbs of mine shall part From one another on a wrack, Ere I disclose; But thou dost utter words That much afflict me: you did seem as ready Sweet _Bacha_, as my self. _Bac._ You are right a man: when they have 'witcht us into miserie, poor innocent souls, They lay the fault on us: But be it so; for Prince _Leucippus_ sake I will bear any thing. _Leucip._ Come weep no more, I wrought thee to it, it was my fault: Nay, see if thou wilt leave? Here, take this pearl, Kiss me sweet _Bacha_, and receive this purse. _Bacha._ What should I do with these? they will not deck my mind. _Leucip._ Why keep 'em to remember me. I must be gone, I have been absent long: I know the Duke my Father is in rage, But I will see thee suddenly again. Farewell my _Bacha_. _Bacha._ Gods keep you, Do you he[a]re Sir: pray give me a point to wear. _Leu._ Alas good _Bacha_, take on[e], I pray thee where thou wilt. _Bac._ Coming from you. This Point is of as high Esteem with me, as all pearl and gold: nothing but good be ever with or near you. _Leu._ Fare thee well mine own good _Bacha_; I will make all haste. [_Exit._ _Bacha._ Just as you are a Dosen I [e]steem you: No more, does he think I would prostitute My self for love? it was the love of these pearls And gold that won me, I confess I lust more after him than any other, And would at any rate if I had store, Purchase his fellowship: but being poor, I'll both enjoy his bodie and his purse, And he a _Prince_, nere think my self the worse. _Enter Leontius, Leucippus, Ismenus, Timantus._ _Leon._ Nay, you must back and shew us what it is, That 'witches you out of your Honor thus. _Bacha._ Who's that? _Tima._ Look there Sir. _Leon._ Lady, never flye you are betray'd. _Bacha._ Leave me my tears a while, And to my Just rage give a little place: What saucy man are you, that without leave, Enter upon a Widows mournfull house? You hinder a dead man from many tears. Who did deserve more than the world can shed, Though they should weep themselves to Images. If not for love of me, yet of your self Away, for you can bring no [comfort] to me. But you may carry hence, you know not what. Nay sorrow is infectious.