_Cla._ No Goddess, friend: but made Of that same brittle mould as you are; One too acquainted with calamities, And from that apt to pity. Charity ever Finds in the act reward, and needs no Trumpet In the receiver. O forbear this duty; I have a hand to meet with yours, And lips to bid yours welcome. _Cro._ I see, that by instinct, Though a young Maid hath never seen a Man, Touches have titillations, and inform her. _Enter_ Rosella. But here's our Governess; Now I expect a storme. _Ros._ Child of my flesh, And not of my fair unspotted mind, Un-hand this Monster. _Cla._ Monster, Mother? _Ros._ Yes; and every word he speaks, a _Syrens_ note, To drown the careless hearer. Have I not taught thee The falshood and the perjuries of Men? On whom, but for a woman to shew pity, Is to be cruel to her self; the Soveraignty Proud and imperious men usurp upon us, We conferr on our selves, and love those fetters We fasten to our freedomes. Have we, _Clarinda_, Since thy fathers wrack, sought liberty, To lose it un-compel'd? Did fortune guide, Or rather destiny, our Barke, to which We could appoint no Port, to this blest place, Inhabited heretofore by warlike women, That kept men in subjection? Did we then, By their example, after we had lost All we could love in man, here plant our selves, With execrable oaths never to look On man, but as a Monster? and, Wilt thou Be the first president to infringe those vows We made to Heaven? _Cla._ Hear me; and hear me with justice. And as ye are delighted in the name Of Mother, hear a daughter that would be like you. Should all Women use this obstinate abstinence, You would force upon us; in a few years The whole World would be peopled Onely with Beasts. _Hip._ We must, and will have Men. _Cro._ I, or wee'll shake off all obedience. _Ros._ Are ye mad? Can no perswasion alter ye? suppose You had my suffrage to your sute; Can this Shipwrackt wretch supply them all? _Alb._ Hear me great Lady! I have fellowes in my misery, not far hence, Divided only by this hellish River, There live a company of wretched Men, Such as your charity may make your slaves; Imagine all the miseries mankind May suffer under: and they groan beneath 'em. _Cla._ But are they like to you? _Jul._ Speak they your Language? _Cro._ Are they able, lusty men? _Alb._ They were good, Ladies; And in their May of youth of gentle blood, And such as may deserve ye; now cold and hunger Hath lessen'd their perfection: but restor'd To what they were, I doubt not they'll appear Worthy your favors. _Jul._ This is a blessing We durst not hope for. _Cla._ Dear Mother, be not obdurate.