n ever have o' foot against our honours,
That nothing we can do, never so vertuous,
No shape put on so pious, no not think
What a good is, be that good ne're so noble,
Never so laden with admir'd example,
But still we end in lust; our aims, our actions,
Nay, even our charities, with lust are branded;
Why should this stranger else, this wretched stranger,
Whose life I sav'd at what dear price sticks here yet,
Why should he hope? he was not here an hour,
And certainly in that time, I may swear it
I gave him no loose look, I had no reason;
Unless my tears were flames, my curses courtships;
The killing of my Son, a kindness to me.
Why should he send to me, or with what safety
(Examining the ruine he had wrought me)
Though at that time, my pious pity found him,
And my word fixt; I am troubled, strongly troubled.

_Enter a_ Servant.

_Ser._ The Gentlemen are come.

_Guio._ Then bid 'em welcome--I must retire. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Rutilio, _and_ Duarte.

_Ser._ You are welcom Gentlemen.

_Rut._ I thank you friend, I would speak with your Lady.

_Ser._ I'le let her understand.

_Rut._ It shall befit you.
How do I look Sir, in this handsome trim? [_Exit_ Servant.
Me thinks I am wondrous brave.

_Duar._ You are very decent.

_Rut._ These by themselves, without more helps of nature,
Would set a woman hard; I know 'em all,
And where their first aims light; I'le lay my head on't,
I'le take her eye, as soon as she looks on me,
And if I come to speak once, woe be to her,
I have her in a nooze, she cannot scape me;
I have their several lasts.

_Dua._ You are throughly studied,
But tell me Sir, being unacquainted with her,
As you confess you are--

_Rut._ That's not an hours work,
I'le make a Nun forget her beads in two hours.

_Dua._ She being set in years, next none of those lusters
Appearing in her eye, that warm the fancy;
Nor nothing in her face, but handsom ruines.

_Rut._ I love old stories: those live believ'd, Authentique,
When 20. of your modern faces are call'd in,
For new opinion, paintings, and corruptions;
Give me an old confirm'd face; besides she sav'd me,
She sav'd my life, have I not cause to love her?
She's rich and of a constant state, a fair one,
Have I not cause to wooe her? I have tryed sufficient
All your young Phillies, I think this back has try'd 'em,
And smarted for it too: they run away with me,
Take bitt between the teeth, and play the Devils;
A staied pace now becomes my