Bon.  You alway excepted; tis but melancholly;
Prethee bestow a kisse upon me, love;
Perchance that will expell it.

Bel.  If your cure be wrought soe easily, pittie you should perish for want of physick. [Kiss him.

Bon.  She kisses as sheed wont; were she unchast,
Surely her breath would like a Stigian mist
Or some contagious vapor blast me; but
’Tis sweet as Indian balme, and from her lips
Distills[68] a moisture pretious as the Dew
The amorous bounty of the wholesome morne
Throwes on rose buds; her cheeks are fresh and pure
As the chast ayre that circumscribes them, yet
Theres that within her renders her as foule
As the deformed’st Ethiope.

Bel.  Whats the matter?  Why do you staire so on me?

Bon.  To admire That such a goodly building as this same Should have such vild stuff in itt.

Bel.  What meanes this language?

Bon.  Nothing, but only to informe you what You know to well alreadie:  Belisia, you are —­(I cannot call her whore)—­a perjurd woman.

Bel.  Defend me innocence!  I scarce remember That ever I made oath and therefore wonder How I should breake on.

Bon.  Have you not with imprecations beg’d Heavens vengeance if you ere lovd man but me?

Bel.  And those same heavens are vouchers[69] I’ve kept my vowes with that strict purity That I have done my honor.

Bon.  I believe thee;
The divell sometimes speaks truth.  Intemperate woman,
Thoust made that name a terme convertible
With fury, otherwise I should call thee soe,
How durst thou with this impudence abuse
My honest faith? did I appeare a guest
So infinitly worthles that you thought
The fragments of thy honour good enough
To sate my appetite, what other men
Had with unhallowd hands prophaind?  O woman,
Once I had lockd in thy deceiving brest
A treasure wealthier then the Indies both
Can in their glory boast, my faithfull heart,
Which I do justly ravish back from it
Since thou art turnd a strumpet.

Bel.  Doe you thinke I am what you have term’d me?

Bon.  Doe I thinke
When I behold the wanton Sparrows change
Their chirps to billing, they are chast? or see
The Reeking Goate over the mountaine top
Pursue his Female, yet conceit him free
From wild concupiscence?  I prithee tell me,
Does not the genius of thy honor dead
Haunt thee with apparitions like a goast
Of one thou’dst murdrd? dost not often come
To thy bed-side and like a fairy pinch
Thy prostituted limbs, then laughing tell thee
’Tis in revenge for myriads of black tortures
Thy lust inflicted on it?