Hip. To be forc’d to wooe, Being a woman, could not but torment me, But bringing for my advocates, youth and beauty, Set off with wealth, and then to be deni’d too Do’s comprehend all tortures.  They flatter’d me, That said my looks were charms, my touches fetters, My locks soft chains, to bind the arms of Princes, And make them in that wish’d for bondage, happy.  I am like others of a coarser feature, As weak to allure, but in my dotage, stronger:  I am no Circe; he, more than Ulysses, Scorns all my offer’d bounties, slights my favours, And, as I were some new Egyptian, flyes me, Leaving no pawn, but my own shame behind him.  But he shall finde, that in my fell revenge, I am a woman:  one that never pardons The rude contemner of her proffered sweetness.

Enter Zabulon.

Zab. Madam, ’tis done.

Hip. What’s done?

Zab. The uncivill stranger Is at your suite arrested.

Hip. ’Tis well handled.

Zab. And under guard sent to the Governour,
With whom my testimony, and the favour
He bears your Ladiship, have so prevail’d
That he is sentenc’d.

Hip. How?

Zab. To lose his head.

Hip. Is that the means to quench the scorching heat
Of my inrag’d desires? must innocence suffer,
’Cause I am faulty? or is my Love so fatall
That of necessity it must destroy
The object it most longs for? dull Hippolyta,
To think that injuries could make way for love,
When courtesies were despis’d:  that by his death
Thou shouldst gain that, which only thou canst hope for
While he is living:  My honour’s at the stake now,
And cannot be preserv’d, unless he perish,
The enjoying of the thing I love, I ever
Have priz’d above my fame:  why doubt I now then? 
One only way is left me, to redeem all: 
Make ready my Caroch.

Leo. What will you Madam?

Hip. And yet I am impatient of such stay: 
Bind up my hair:  fye, fye, while that is doing
The Law may seise his life:  thus as I am then,
Not like Hippolyta, but a Bacchanal
My frantique Love transports me. [Exit.

Leo. Sure she’s distracted.

Zab. Pray you follow her:  I will along with you: 
I more than ghess the cause:  women that love
Are most uncertain, and one minute crave,
What in another they refuse to have. [Exit.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Clodio, Charino.

Clo. Assure thy self Charino, I am alter’d
From what I was; the tempests we have met with
In our uncertain voyage, were smooth gales
Compar’d to those, the memory of my lusts
Rais’d in my Conscience:  and if ere again
I live to see Zenocia, I will sue,
And seek to her as a Lover, and a Servant,
And not command affection, like a Tyrant.