Corv. Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore,
Resolve upon it: I have so decreed.
It must be done. Nor would I move’t afore,
Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks,
That might deny me.

Cel. Sir, let me beseech you,
Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt
My chastity, why, lock me up for ever;
Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live,
Where I may please your fears, if not your trust.

Corv. Believe it, I have no such humour, I.
All that I speak I mean; yet I’m not mad;
Nor horn-mad, see you? Go to, shew yourself
Obedient, and a wife.

Cel. O heaven!

Corv. I say it,
Do so.

Cel. Was this the train?

Corv. I’ve told you reasons;

Cel. Before your honour?

Corv. Honour! tut, a breath:
There’s no such thing in nature: a mere term
Invented to awe fools. What is my gold
The worse for touching, clothes for being look’d on?
Why, this is no more. An old decrepit wretch,
That has no sense, no sinew; takes his meat
With others’ fingers; only knows to gape,
When you do scald his gums; a voice, a shadow;
And, what can this man hurt you?

Cel. Lord! what spirit
Is this hath enter’d him? [Aside.

Corv. And for your fame,
That’s such a jig; as if I would go tell it,
Cry it on the Piazza! who shall know it,
But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow,
Whose lips are in my pocket? save yourself,
(If you’ll proclaim’t, you may,) I know no other
Shall come to know it.

Cel. Are heaven and saints then nothing?
Will they be blind or stupid?

Corv. How!

Cel. Good sir,
Be jealous still, emulate them; and think
What hate they burn with toward every sin.

Corv. I grant you: if I thought it were a sin,
I would not urge you. Should I offer this
To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood
That had read Aretine, conn’d all his prints,
Knew every quirk within lust’s labyrinth,
And