_Lord Av_. Forreyne.
_Lady_. Nay, domestick,
Tis howsehould busines all.
_Lord Av_. May I impart it?
_Lady_. Oh, syr, in any case,
As one it most concernes; but I intreate you,
Reade it with patiens; the simplicity
Of him that writte it will afford you mirthe,
Or else his mallice spleane.--Nowe by his temper
And change of countenance I shall easily find
Whose hand was cheife in this.
_Lord Av_. All leave the place.
_Denis_. We shall, syr.
_Lord Av_. Possible
That this shoold bee in man, nay in man vowed
Unto a strickt abstemious chastity!
From my owne creature and from one I feede,
Nay from a place built in my holiest vowes,
Establisht in my purpose in my lyfe,
Maintayn'd from my revenue, after death
Firm'd and assur'd to all posterityes--
That that shoold breede such vipers!
_Lady_. Patiens, syr; the fellowe suer is madd.
_Lord Av_. I can be madd as hee too and I will.
Thus to abuse my goodnes! in a deede
Som woold hold meritorious, att the least
Intended for an act of piety,
To suffer in my zeale! nay to bee mockt
In my devotion, by these empty drones
That feede upon the honey of my hyve!
To invert my good intentements, turne this nest
[_Ink: paper ready_.
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