Martha.  Come out!  Come out!

Margery [at the window].  Bring on a light!

Martha [as above].  They swear and scuffle, scream and fight.

People.  There’s one, has got’s death-blow!

Martha [coming out].  Where are the murderers, have they flown?

Margery [coming out].  Who’s lying here?

People.  Thy mother’s son.

Margery.  Almighty God!  What woe!

Valentine.  I’m dying! that is quickly said,
And even quicklier done. 
Women!  Why howl, as if half-dead? 
Come, hear me, every one!
      [All gather round him.]
My Margery, look!  Young art thou still,
But managest thy matters ill,
Hast not learned out yet quite. 
I say in confidence—­think it o’er: 
Thou art just once for all a whore;
Why, be one, then, outright.

Margery.  My brother!  God!  What words to me!

Valentine.  In this game let our Lord God be! 
That which is done, alas! is done. 
And every thing its course will run. 
With one you secretly begin,
Presently more of them come in,
And when a dozen share in thee,
Thou art the whole town’s property.

When shame is born to this world of sorrow,
The birth is carefully hid from sight,
And the mysterious veil of night
To cover her head they borrow;
Yes, they would gladly stifle the wearer;
But as she grows and holds herself high,
She walks uncovered in day’s broad eye,
Though she has not become a whit fairer. 
The uglier her face to sight,
The more she courts the noonday light.

Already I the time can see
When all good souls shall shrink from thee,
Thou prostitute, when thou go’st by them,
As if a tainted corpse were nigh them. 
Thy heart within thy breast shall quake then,
When they look thee in the face. 
Shalt wear no gold chain more on thy neck then! 
Shalt stand no more in the holy place! 
No pleasure in point-lace collars take then,
Nor for the dance thy person deck then! 
But into some dark corner gliding,
’Mong beggars and cripples wilt be hiding;
And even should God thy sin forgive,
Wilt be curs’d on earth while thou shalt live!

Martha.  Your soul to the mercy of God surrender!  Will you add to your load the sin of slander?

Valentine.  Could I get at thy dried-up frame,
Vile bawd, so lost to all sense of shame! 
Then might I hope, e’en this side Heaven,
Richly to find my sins forgiven.

Margery.  My brother!  This is hell to me!

Valentine.  I tell thee, let these weak tears be! 
When thy last hold of honor broke,
Thou gav’st my heart the heaviest stroke. 
I’m going home now through the grave
To God, a soldier and a brave.
                [Dies.]