ited----

Vit. To do what, sir?

Cam. To lie with you to-night. Your silkworm used to fast every third
day, and the next following spins the better. To-morrow at night, I am
for you.

Vit. You 'll spin a fair thread, trust to 't.

Flam. But do you hear, I shall have you steal to her chamber about
midnight.

Cam. Do you think so? why look you, brother, because you shall not say
I 'll gull you, take the key, lock me into the chamber, and say you
shall be sure of me.

Flam. In troth I will; I 'll be your jailor once.

Cam. A pox on 't, as I am a Christian! tell me to-morrow how scurvily
she takes my unkind parting.

Flam. I will.

Cam. Didst thou not mark the jest of the silkworm?
Good-night; in faith, I will use this trick often.

Flam. Do, do, do. [Exit Camillo.
So, now you are safe. Ha, ha, ha, thou entanglest thyself in thine own
work like a silkworm. [Enter Brachiano.] Come, sister, darkness hides
your blush. Women are like cursed dogs: civility keeps them tied all
daytime, but they are let loose at midnight; then they do most good, or
most mischief. My lord, my lord!

Zanche brings out a carpet, spreads it, and lays on it two fair cushions.
Enter Cornelia listening, but unperceived.

Brach. Give credit: I could wish time would stand still,
And never end this interview, this hour;
But all delight doth itself soon'st devour.
Let me into your bosom, happy lady,
Pour out, instead of eloquence, my vows.
Loose me not, madam, for if you forgo me,
I am lost eternally.

Vit. Sir, in the way of pity,
I wish you heart-whole.

Brach. You are a sweet physician.

Vit. Sure, sir, a loathed cruelty in ladies
Is as to doctors many funerals:
It takes away their credit.

Brach. Excellent creature!
We call the cruel fair; what name for you
That are so merciful?

Zan. See now they close.

Flam. Most happy union.

Corn. [Aside.] My fears are fall'n upon me: oh, my heart!
My son the pander! now I find our house
Sinking to ruin. Earthquakes leave behind,
Where they have tyranniz'd, iron, or lead, or stone;
But woe to ruin, violent lust leaves none.

Brach. What value is this jewel?

Vit. 'Tis the ornament of a weak fortune.

Brach. In sooth, I 'll have it; nay, I will but change
My jewel for your jewel.

Flam.