Young Geraldine. You’re to blame, And, Bess, you make me angry: he’s my friend, And she my second self; in all their meetings I never saw so much as cast of eye Once entertained betwixt them. Bess. That’s their cunning. Young Geraldine. For her, I have been with her at all hours, Both late and early; in her bed-chamber, And often singly ushered her abroad: Now, would she have been any man’s alive, She had been mine. You wrong a worthy friend And a chaste mistress; you’re not a good girl. Drink that, speak better of her; I could chide you, But I’ll forbear. What you have rashly spoke, Shall ever here be buried. Bess. I am sorry My freeness should offend you, but yet know I am her chamber-maid. Young Geraldine. Play now the market-maid, And prithee ’bout thy business. Bess. Well, I shall.-- That man should be so foolèd! [_Exit_. Young Geraldine. She a prostitute! Nay, and to him, my troth-plight, and my friend As possible it is that Heaven and earth Should be in love together, meet and kiss, And so cut off all distance. What strange frenzy Came in this wench’s brain, so to surmise? Were she so base, his nobleness is such He would not entertain it for my sake; Or he so bent, his hot and lust-burnt appetite Would be so quenched at the mere contemplation Of her most pious and religious life. The girl was much to blame; perhaps her mistress Hath stirred her anger by some word or blow, Which she would thus revenge--not apprehending At what a high price honour’s to be rated; Or else some one that envies her rare virtue Might hire her thus to brand it; or, who knows But the young wench may fix a thought on me, And to divert me from her mistress’ love, May raise this false aspersion? Howsoever, My thoughts on these two columns fixèd are, She’s good as fresh, and purely chaste as fair. _Enter_ Clown _with a letter_. Clown. Oh, sir, you are the needle, and if the whole county of Middlesex had been turned to a mere bottle[3.35] of hay, I had been enjoined to have found you out, or never more returned back to my old master: there’s a letter, sir. Young Geraldine. I know the hand that superscribed it well; Stay but till I peruse it, and from me Thou shalt return an answer. [_Reads letter_.