The Tragedy of
What cannot a neate knave with a smooth tale,
Make a woman beleeve? farewell, lusty Widowe.
Duch.
Shall this move me? if all my royall kindred
Lay in my way, unto this marriage:
I'll'd make them my low foote-steps: And even now,
Even in this hate (as men in some great battailes
By apprehending danger, have atchiev'd
Almost impossible actions: I have heard Souldiers say so,
So I, through frights, and threatnings, will assay
This dangerous venture: Let old wives report
I wincked, and chose a husband: Cariola,
To thy knowne secricy, I have given up
More then my life, my fame:
Carolia.
Both shall be safe:
For I'll conceale this secret from the world
As warily as those that trade in poyson,
Keepe poyson from their children.
Duch.
Thy protestation
Is ingenious, and hearty: I beleeve it.
Is Antonio come?
Cariola.
He attends you:
Duch.
Good deare soule,
Leave me: but place thy selfe behind the Arras,
Where thou maist over-heare us: wish me good speed
For I am going into a wildernesse,
Where I shall find nor path, nor friendly clewe
To be my guide, I sent for you, Sit downe:
Take Pen and Incke, and write: are you ready?
Ant.
Yes:
Duch.
What did I say?
Ant.
That I should write some-what.
Duch.
Oh, I remember:
After this triumphs, and this large expence
It's fit (like thrifty husbands) we enquire
What's laid up for to morrow:
Ant.
So please your beauteous Excellence.
Duch.
Beauteous? Indeed I thank you: I look yong for your sake.
You
