_Mildewe_ Y'have such a bargen
Marcellis, nor all France, shall yeild the like.
Tis such a deynty peece of purity
Such a coy thinge that[53] hee unto whose lott
She shall hereafter fall may boast himself
To bee a happy husband. For our trade
Shees out at that: neather promises, rewards,
Example or Intreaty, fayre, fowle meanes,
Gaine present or the hope of future goodd,
Can force from her a presens; then much lesse
A frendly prostitution.
_Raphael_. Hearst thou this?
_Treadway_. Yes[54] and comende it in her, if that toonge,
Even from his fyrst of speakinge traind to lye,
Can now at lengthe speake truth.
_Clowne_. Ay theres the dowbt.
_Sarly_. This too yeares I have quested to his howse,
And knwe all this most certeine.
_Raphael_. Witnes too.
_Mildewe_. I doo protest she spoyles my family
And rather growne a hyndrance to my trade
Then benefitt; so that, if not to losse,
I wishe that I were clerly ridd of her,
For shee hathe gott a trick to[55] my whores;
And such as of themselves are impudent,
When shee but coms in presens she makes blushe,
As if ashamd of what they late had doon
Or are about to doo.
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