Cel.  As you are just and honest; I know I love and honour you:  admire you.

Ant.  This makes against me, fearfully against me.

Cel.  But as you bring your power to persecute me,
Your traps to catch mine innocence to rob me,
As you lay out your lusts to overwhelm me,
Hell never hated good, as I hate you, Sir;
And I dare tell it to your face:  What glory
Now after all your Conquests got, your Titles,
The ever-living memories rais’d to you,
Can my defeat be? my poor wrack, what triumph? 
And when you crown your swelling Cups to fortune,
What honourable tongue can sing my story? 
Be as your Emblem is, a g[l]orious Lamp
Set on the top of all, to light all perfectly: 
Be as your office is, a god-like Justice,
Into all shedding equally your Vertues.

Ant.  She has drencht me now; now I admire her goodness; So young, so nobly strong, I never tasted:  Can nothing in the power of Kings perswade ye?

Cel.  No, nor that power command me.

Ant.  Say I should force ye?  I have it in my will.

Cel.  Your will’s a poor one; And though it be a King’s Will, a despised one.  Weaker than Infants legs, your will’s in swadling Clouts, A thousand ways my will has found to check ye; A thousand doors to ’scape ye, I dare dye, Sir; As suddenly I dare dye, as you can offer:  Nay, say you had your Will, say you had ravish’d me, Perform’d your lust, what had you purchas’d by it?  What Honour won? do you know who dwells above, Sir, And what they have prepar’d for men turn’d Devils?  Did you never hear their thunder? start and tremble, Death sitting on your bloud, when their fires visit us.  Will nothing wring you then do you think? sit hard here, And like a Snail curl round about your Conscience, Biting and stinging:  will you not roar too late then?  Then when you shake in horrour of this Villainy, Then will I rise a Star in Heaven, and scorn ye.

Ant.  Lust, how I hate thee now! and love this sweetness!  Will you be my Queen? can that price purchase ye?

Cel.  Not all the World, I am a Queen already,
Crown’d by his Love, I must not lose for Fortune;
I can give none away, sell none away, Sir,
Can lend no love, am not mine own Exchequer;
For in anothers heart my hope and peace lies.

Ant.  Your fair hands, Lady? for yet I am not pure enough To touch these Lips, in that sweet Peace ye spoke of.  Live now for ever, and I to serve your Vertues—­

Cel.  Why now you show a god! now I kneel to ye; This Sacrifice of Virgins Joy send to ye:  Thus I hold up my hands to Heaven that touch’d ye, And pray eternal Blessings dwell about ye.

Ant.  Vertue commands the Stars:  rise more than Vertue; Your present comfort shall be now my business.

Cel.  All my obedient service wait upon ye. [Ex. severally.