_Bawd._ I would take whipping, And pay a fine now. [_Exit Bawdber._ _Theod._ But were ye once disgraced, Or fallen in wealth, like leaves they would flie from you, And become browse for every beast; You will'd me To stock my self with better friends, and servants, With what face dare you see me, or any mankind, That keep a race of such unheard of relicks, Bawds, Leachers, Letches, female fornications, And children in their rudiments to vices, Old men to shew examples: and lest Art Should loose her self in act, to call back custome, Leave these, and live like _Niobe_. I told you how And when your eyes have dropt away remembrance Of what you were. I 'm your Son! performe it. _Brun._ Am I a woman, and no more power in me, To tye this Tyger up, a soul to no end, Have I got shame and lost my will? _Brunhalt_ From this accursed hour, forget thou bor'st him, Or any part of thy blood gave him living, Let him be to thee an Antipathy, A thing thy nature sweats at, and turns backward: Throw all the mischiefs on him that thy self, Or woman worse than thou art, have invented, And kill him drunk, or doubtfull. _Enter Bawd[b]er_, _Protaldie_, _Lecure_. _Bawd._ Such a sweat, I never was in yet, clipt of my minstrels, My toyes to prick up wenches withall; Uphold me, It runs like snow-balls through me. _Brun._ Now my varlets, My slaves, my running thoughts, my executions. _Baw._ Lord how she looks! _Brun._ Hell take ye all. _Baw._ We shall be gelt. _Brun._ Your Mistress, Your old and honor'd Mistress, you tyr'd curtals Suffers for your base sins; I must be cloyster'd, Mew'd up to make me virtuous who can help this? Now you stand still like Statues; Come _Protaldye_, One kiss before I perish, kiss me strongly, Another, and a third. _Lecure._ I fear not gelding As long [as] she holds this way. _Brun._ The young courser That unli[c]kt lumpe of mine, will win thy Mistriss; Must I be chast _Protaldye_? _Pro._ Thus and thus Lady. _Brun._ It shall be so, let him seek fools for Vestalls, Here is my Cloyster. _Lecure._ But what safety Madam Find you in staying here? _Brun._ Thou hast hit my meaning, I will to _Thierry_ Son of my blessings, And there complain me, tell my tale so subtilly, That the cold stones shall sweat; And Statues mourn, And thou shall weep _Protaldye_ in my witness, And there forswear. _Bawd._ Yes, any thing but gelding, I'm not yet in quiet Noble Lady, Let it be done to night, for without doubt To morrow we are capons.