_Leon._ Thou thy self Art grown infectious: wouldst thou know my name? I am the Duke, father to this young-man Whom thou corrupt'st. _Bacha._ Has he th[e]n told him all? _Leuc._ You do her wrong Sir. _Bacha._ O he has not told. Sir I beseech you pardon My wild tongue, directed by a weak distemper'd head Madded with grief: Alas I did not know You were my Sovereign; but now you may Command my poor unworthy life, Which will be none I hope ere long. _Leon._ All thy dissembling will never hide thy shame: And wer't not more respecting Womanhood in General, than any thing in thee, thou shouldst Be made such an example, that posteritie, When they would speak most bitterly, should say, _Thou art as impudent as Bacha was_. _Bacha._ Sir, though you be my King, whom I will Serve in all just causes: yet when wrongfully You seek to take my Honor, I will rise Thus, and defie you; for it is a Jewell Dearer than you can give, which whilst I keep, (Though in this lowly house) I shall esteem My self above the Princes of the earth That are without it. If the Prince your son, Whom you accuse me with, know how to speak Dishonor of me, if he do not do it, The plagues of hell light on him, may he never Govern this Kingdome: here I chalenge him Before the face of heaven, my Liege, and these, To speak the worst he can: if he will lye, To lose a womans fame, I'll say he is Like you (I think I cannot call him worse.) He's dead, that with his life would have defended My reputation and I forct to play (That which I am) the foolish woman, And use my liberal tongue. _Leu._ Is't possible! we men are children in our Carriages, compar'd with women: 'wake thy self For shame, and leave not her whose honor thou Shou'dst keep safe as thine own, alone to free her self: But I am prest I know not how, with guilt, And feel my conscience (never us'd to lye) Loth to allow my tongue to add a lye To that too much I did: but it is lawfull To defend her, that only for my Love lov'd evill. _Leon._ Tell me, why did you _Leucip_: stay here so long? _Leu._ If I can urge ought from me but a truth, Hell take me. _Leon._ What's the matter, why speak you not? _Tima._ Alas good Sir, forbear To urge the Prince, you see his shamefastness. _Bacha._ What does he say Sir? if thou be a Prince Shew it, and tell the truth. _Ismen._ If you have lain with her tell your Father No doubt but he has done as ill before now: The Gentlewoman will be proud on't. _Bacha._ For God's sake speak. _Leu._ Have you done prating yet? _Ismen._ Who prates? _Leu._ Thou know'st I do not speak to thee _Ismenus_: But what said you _Tima_; concerning my shamefastness? _Tima._ Nothing I hope that might displease your Highness.