_Cor._ The lives of princes should like dials move, Whose regular example is so strong, They make the times by them go right or wrong. _Flam._ So; have you done? _Cor._ Unfortunate Camillo! _Vit. Cor._ I do protest, if any chaste denial, If anything but blood could have allayed His long suit to me-- _Cor._ I will join with thee, To the most woeful end e'er mother kneeled: If thou dishonour thus thy husband's bed, Be thy life short as are the funeral tears In great men's-- _Brach._ Fie, fie, the woman's mad. _Cor._ Be thy act, Judas-like,--betray in kissing: Mayst thou be envied during his short breath, And pitied like a wretch after his death! _Vit. Cor._ O me accursed! [_Exit._ _Flam._ Are you out of your wits, my lord? I'll fetch her back again. _Brach._ No, I'll to bed: Send Doctor Julio to me presently.-- Uncharitable woman! thy rash tongue Hath raised a fearful and prodigious storm: Be thou the cause of all ensuing harm. [_Exit._ _Flam._ Now, you that stand so much upon your honour, Is this a fitting time o' night, think you, To send a duke home without e'er a man? I would fain know where lies the mass of wealth Which you have hoarded for my maintenance, That I may bear my beard out of the level Of my lord's stirrup. _Cor._ What! because we are poor Shall we be vicious? _Flam._ Pray, what means have you To keep me from the galleys or the gallows? My father proved himself a gentleman, Sold all's land, and, like a fortunate fellow, Died ere the money was spent. You brought me up At Padua, I confess, where, I protest, For want of means (the university judge me) I have been fain to heel my tutor's stockings, At least seven years: conspiring with a beard, Made me a graduate; then to this duke's service. I visited the court, whence I returned More courteous, more lecherous by far, But not a suit the richer: and shall I, Having a path so open and so free To my preferment, still retain your milk In my pale forehead? no, this face of mine I'll arm, and fortify with lusty wine, 'Gainst shame and blushing. _Cor._ O, that I ne'er had borne thee. _Flam._ So would I; I would the common'st courtezan in Rome Had been my mother, rather than thyself. Nature is very pitiful to whores, To give them but few children, yet those children Plurality of fathers: they are sure They shall not want. Go, go, Complain unto my great lord cardinal; Yet may be he will justify the act. Lycurgus wondered much men would provide Good stallions for their mares, and yet would suffer Their fair wives to be barren. _Cor._ Misery of miseries! [_Exit._