_Mal._ Molly, he that loves thee is a duke, Mendoza; he will maintain thee royally, love thee ardently, defend thee powerfully, marry thee sumptuously, and keep thee, in despite of Rosicleer or Donzel del Phebo.[534] There's jewels: if thou wilt, so; if not, so. _Maria._ Captain, for God's love,[535] save poor wretchedness From tyranny of lustful insolence! Enforce me in the deepest dungeon dwell, Rather than here; here round about is hell.-- 120 O my dear'st Altofront! where'er thou breathe, Let my soul sink into the shades beneath, Before I stain thine honour! 'tis[536] thou has't, And long as I can die, I will live chaste. _Mal._ 'Gainst him that can enforce how vain is strife! _Maria._ She that can be enforc'd has ne'er a knife: She that through force her limbs with lust enrolls, Wants Cleopatra's asps and Portia's coals. God amend you! 129 [_Exit with_ Captain. _Mal._ Now, the fear of the devil for ever go with thee!--Maquerelle, I tell thee, I have found an honest woman: faith, I perceive, when all is done, there is of women, as of all other things, some good, most bad; some saints, some sinners: for as nowadays no courtier but has his mistress, no captain but has his cockatrice,[537] no cuckold but has his horns, and no fool but has his feather; even so, no woman but has her weakness and feather too, no sex but has his--I can hunt the letter no farther.--[_Aside_] O God, how loathsome this toying is to me! that a duke should be forced to fool it! well, _stultorum plena sunt omnia_:[538] better play the fool lord than be the fool lord.--Now, where's your sleights, Madam Maquerelle? 143 _Maq._ Why, are ye ignorant that 'tis said a squeamish affected niceness is natural to women, and that the excuse of their yielding is only, forsooth, the difficult obtaining? You must put her to't: women are flax, and will fire in a moment. _Mal._ Why, was the flax put into thy mouth, and yet thou--Thou set fire, thou inflame her! 150 _Maq._ Marry, but I'll tell ye now, you were too hot. _Mal._ The fitter to have inflamed the flax, woman. _Maq._ You were too boisterous, spleeny, for, indeed---- _Mal._ Go, go, thou art a weak pandress: now I see, Sooner earth's fire heaven itself shall waste, Than all with heat can melt a mind that's chaste. Go: thou the duke's lime-twig! I'll make the duke turn thee out of thine office: what, not get one touch of hope, and had her at such advantage! 160 Maq. Now, o' my conscience, now I think in my discretion, we did not take her in the right sign; the blood was not in the true vein, sure. [_Exit._