_Gond._ Again? yet more torments? _Gentlew._ Indeed you shall have them. _Gond._ Keep off. _Gentlew._ A small gratuity for your kindness. _Gond._ Hold away. _Gentlew._ Why then I thank your Lordship, I'll gather them up again, and I'll be sworn, it is the first money that was refus'd since I came to the Court. _Gond._ What can she devise to say more? _Gentlew._ Truly I would have willingly parted with them to your Lordship. _Gond._ I believe it, I believe it. _Gentlew._ But since it is thus-- _Gond._ More yet. _Gentlew._ I will attend without, and expect an answer. _Gond._ Do, begone, and thou shalt expect, and have any thing, thou shalt have thy answer from him; and he were best to give thee a good one at first, for thy deaf importunity, will conquer him too, in the end. _Gentlew._ God bless your Lordship, and all tha[t] favour a poor distressed countrey Gentlewoman. [_Exit Gentlew._ _Gond._ All the diseases of man light upon them that doe, and upon me when I do. A week of such days, would either make me stark mad or tame me: yonder other woman that I have sure enough, shall answer for thy sins: dare they incense me still, I will make them fear as much to be ignorant of me and my moods, as men are to be ignorant of the law they live under. Who's there? My bloud grew cold, I began to fear my Suiters return; 'tis the Duke. _Enter the Duke and the Count._ _Count._ I know her chaste, though she be young and free, And is not of that forc'd behaviour That many others are, and that this Lord, Out of the boundless malice to the sex, Hath thrown this scandal on her. _Gond._ Fortune befriended me against my Will, with this good old countrey gentlewoman; I beseech your grace, to view favourably the petition of a wronged Gentlewoman. _Duke._ What _Gondarino_, are you become a petitioner for your enemies? _Gond._ My Lord, they are no enemies of mine, I confess, the better to [cover] my deeds, which sometimes were loose enough, I pretended it, as it is wisdom, to keep close our incontinence, but since you have discover'd me, I will no more put on that vizard, but will as freely open all my thoughts to you, as to my Confessor. _Duke._ What say you to this? _Count._ He that confesses he did once dissemble, I'll never trust his words: can you imagine A Maid, whose beauty could not suffer her To live thus long untempted, by the noblest, Richest, and cunningst Masters in that Art And yet hath ever held a fair repute; Could in one morning, and by him be brought, To forget all her virtue, and turn whore? _Gond._ I would I had some other talk in hand, Than to accuse a Sister to her Brother: Nor do I mean it for a publick scandal, Unless by urging me you make it so.