Enter Belisea.

Bel.  Peace attend you.

Bon.  What Cherubim has left the quire in heaven
And warbles peacefull Anthems to the earth? 
It is her voyce, that to all eares speakes health,
Only to mine.  Come charitable mist
Hide me, or freindly wherlewind rap me hence,
Or her next accent, like the thunderers, will
Strike me to dust.

Bel.  Sir, I come not
With resolution (though my innocence
May justly arme [me]) to declare my truth;
For I am going where your slander cannot
(Had it bin greater) blast me.  I desire
This for my past love, that youle retaine
Your wrong opinion to yourselfe, not labour
To possesse others with it, to disgrace
Our yet unspotted family.

Bon.  If you want A partner in your greife, take me along That can teach you and all the world true Sorrow.

Bel.  Twas not don well to brand my spotles name
With Infamy; but to deride me is
Inhumaine, when I only come to tell you
Ile send my prayers on charities white wings
To heaven for your prosperity.—­You greive
For what? for your deliverance from a strumpet?

Bon.  No, but that my raving fancy should direct
My trecherous tongue with that detested name
To afflict thy unblemishd purity, Belisea. 
I do confes my error was an act
Soe grosse and heathnish that its very sight
Would have inforcd a Crocodile to weepe
Drops as sincere as does the timorous heart
When he ore heares the featherd arrow sing
His funerall Dirge.

Bel.  Can this be possible?

Bon.  No sismatick, reduc’d to the true faith,
Can more abhorre the Error he has left
Than I do mine.  I do beleive thee chast
As the straight palme; as absolute from spots
As the immaculate Ermine, who does choose,
When he is hunted by the frozen Russe,
To meete the toyle ere he defile the white
Of his rich skin.  What seas of teares will serve
To expiatt the scandall I have throwne
On holy Innocence?

Bel.  Well, I forgive you;
But ere I seale your pardon I in[j]oyne
This as a pennance:  you shall now declare
The author of your wrong report.

Bon.  Your mother.

Bel.  How! my mother?

Bon.  No creature else Could have inducd me to such a madnes.

Bel.  Defend me gracious virtue! is this man
Not desperate of remission, that without
Sense of compu[n]ction dares imagine lies
Soe horrible and godlesse?  My disgrace
Was wrong sufficient to tempt mercie, yet
Cause twas my owne I pardond it; but this
Inferd toth piety of my guiltless mother
Stops all indulgence.

Bon.  Will you not heare me out?

Bel.  Your words will deafe me;
I doe renounce my affection to you; when
You can speake truth, protest you love agen.
                                          [Exit.