_Thier._ I do begin To feel an alteration in my nature, And in his full sail'd confidence, a showre Of gentle rain, that falling on the fire Of my hot rage hath quenched it, ha! I would Once more speak roughly to him, and I will, Yet there is something whispers to me, that I have said too much. How is my heart devided Between the duty of a Son, and love Due to a brother! yet I am swayed here, And must aske of you, how 'tis possible You can effect me that have learned to hate, Where you should pay all love? _Theod._ Which joyn'd with duty, Upon my knees I should be proud to tender, Had she not us'd her self so many swords To cut those bonds that tide me to it. _Thier._ Fie no more of that. _Theod._ Ala[s] it is a theme, I take no pleasure to discourse of; Would It could assoon be buried to the world, As it should die to me: nay more, I wish (Next to my part of heaven) that she would spend The last part of her life so here, that all Indifferent Judges might condemn me, for A most malicious slanderer, nay texde it Upon my forehead, if you hate me mother, Put me to such a shame, pray you do, believe it There is no glory that may fall upon me, Can equall the delight I should receive In that disgrace; provided the repeal Of your long banish'd virtues, and good name, Usher'd me to it. _Thier._ See, she shews her self An e[a]sie mother, which her tears confirme. _Theod._ 'Tis a good sign, the comfortablest rain I ever saw. _Thier._ Embrace: Why this is well, May never more but love in you, and duty On your part rise between you. _Bawd._ Do you hear Lord Generall, Does not your new stamp'd honor on the suddain Begin to grow sick? _Prota._ Yes I find it fit, That putting off my armor I should think of Some honest hospitall to retire to. _Bawd._ Sure although I am a bawd, yet being a Lord, They cannot whip me for't, what's your opinion? _Lecure._ The beadle will resolve you, for I cannot, There is something that more near concerns my self, That calls upon me. _Mart._ Note but yonder scarabs, That liv'd upon the dung of her base pleasures, How from the fear that she may yet prove honest Hang down their wicked heads. _Vitry._ What is that to me? Though they and all the pol[e]cats of the Court, Were trust together, I perceive not how It can advantage me a cardekue, To help to keep me honest. [_A horn._ _Enter a Post._ _Thier._ How, from whence? _Post._ These letters will resolve your grace.