in the minds of men)
Thousands when they shall know what I deliver,
(As all good men must share in't) will to shame
Blast your black memory.

_Lady._ How is this good Sir?

_Elder Lo._ 'Tis that, that if you have a soul will choak it:
Y'ave kill'd a Gentleman.

_Lady._ I kill'd a Gentleman!

_Elder Lo._ You and your cruelty have kill'd him Woman,
And such a man (let me be angry in't)
Whose least worth weighed above all womens vertues
That are; I spare you all to come too: guess him now?

_Lady._ I am so innocent I cannot Sir.

_Elder Lo_. Repent you mean, you are a perfect Woman,
And as the first was, made for mans undoing.

_Lady._ Sir, you have mist your way, I am not she.

_Elder Lo._ Would he had mist his way too, though he had
Wandered farther than Women are ill spoken of,
So he had mist this misery, you Lady.

_Lady._ How do you do, Sir?

_Elder Lo._ Well enough I hope.
While I can keep my self out from temptations.

_Lady._ Leap into this matter, whither would ye?

_Elder Lo._ You had a Servant that your peevishness
Injoined to Travel.

_Lady._ Such a one I have
Still, and shall be griev'd 'twere otherwise.

_El. Lo._ Then have your asking, and be griev'd he's dead;
How you will answer for his worth, I know not,
But this I am sure, either he, or you, or both
Were stark mad, else he might have liv'd
To have given a stronger testimony to th' world
Of what he might have been. He was a man
I knew but in his evening, ten Suns after,
Forc'd by a Tyrant storm our beaten Bark
Bulg'd under us; in which sad parting blow,
He call'd upon his Saint, but not for life,
On you unhappy Woman, and whilest all
Sought to preserve their Souls, he desperately
Imbrac'd a Wave, crying to all that saw it,
If any live, go to my Fate that forc'd me
To this untimely end, and make her happy:
His name was _Loveless_: And I scap't the storm,
And now you have my business.

_Lady._ 'Tis too much.
Would I had been that storm, he had not perisht.
If you'l rail now I will forgive you Sir.
Or if you'l call in more, if any more
Come from this ruine, I shall justly suffer
What they can say, I do confess my self
A guiltie cause in this. I would say more,
But grief is grown too great to be delivered.

_Elder Lo._ I like this well: these women are strange things.
'Tis somewhat of the latest now to weep,
You should have wept when he was going from you,
And chain'd him with those tears at home.

_La._ Would you had told