_Luc._ [_To_ SOPHRONIA.] Dear madam, for heaven's sake make haste into the cloister; the duke pursues me on some ill design. _Soph._ [_To the_ DUKE.] 'Tis not permitted, sir, for maids, once entered into religion, to hold discourses here of worldly things. _Duke._ But my discourses are not worldly, madam; I had a vision in the dead of night, Which shewed me this fair virgin in my sleep, And told me, that from her I should be taught Where to bestow large alms, and great endowments, On some near monastery. _Soph._ Stay, Lucretia; The holy vision's will must be obeyed. [_Exeunt_ SOPHRONIA _and Nuns._ _Luc._ [_Aside._] He does not know me, sure; and yet I fear religion is the least of his business with me. _Duke._ I see, madam, beauty will be beauty in any habit; Though, I confess, the splendour of a court Were a much fitter scene for yours, than is A cloistered privacy. _Luc._ [_counterfeiting her voice._] The world has no temptations for a mind So fixed and raised above it; This humble cell contains and bounds my wishes: My charity gives you my prayers, and that's All my converse with human kind. _Duke._ Since when, madam, have the world and you been upon these equal terms of hostility? Time was, you have been better friends. _Luc._ No doubt I have been vain, and sinful; but the remembrance of those days cannot be pleasant to me now, and therefore, if you please, do not refresh their memory. _Duke._ Their memory! you speak as if they were ages past. _Luc._ You think me still what I was once--a vain, fond, giddy creature: I see, sir, whither your discourses tend, and therefore take my leave. _Duke._ Yes, madam, I know you see whither my discourses tend, and therefore 'twill not be convenient that you should take your leave. Disguise yourself no farther; you are known, as well as you knew me in masquerade. _Luc._ I am not used enough to the world to interpret riddles; therefore, once more, heaven keep you. _Duke._ This will not do; your voice, your mien, your stature, betray you for the same I saw last night: you know the time and place. _Luc._ You were not in this chapel, and I am bound by vow to stir no farther. _Duke._ But you had too much wit to keep that vow. _Luc._ If you persist, sir, in this raving madness, I can bring witness of my innocence. [_Is going._ _Duke._ To save that labour, see if you know that hand, and let that justify you. [_Shows her letter._ _Luc._ What do I see! my ruin is inevitable. _Duke._ You know you merit it: You used me ill, and now are in my power. _Luc._ But you, I hope, are much too noble to Destroy the fame of a poor silly woman? _Duke._ Then, in few words,--for I am bred a soldier, And must speak plain,--it is your love I ask; If you deny, this letter is produced; You know the consequence.