    It spare thee for awhile, will send at last
    A quick return of vengeance on thy head,
    And dart thee down like Phaeton?

    +Bravo.+ Sweet virgin,
    Faces[329] about to some other discourse:
    I cannot relish this.

    +Luc.+ So I believe; but yet
    Compose your thoughts for speedy penitence,
    Your life for an amendment, or I vow
    To lay your actions open to the senate.

    +Bravo.+ Did not your sweetheart tempt me to this deed,
    And will you now betray me?

    +Luc.+ He my sweetheart!
    I hate you both alike: that very word
    Is enough to divorce thee from my pity
    Past hope of reconcilement; for what mercy
    Is to be had of two such prodigies?
    Will you recant yet? speak, will you be honest?

    +Bravo.+ I think you'll force me to become your patient.

    +Luc.+ It is the way to heal thee of a sore,
    Whose cure is supernatural. What art,
    What mirror is sufficient to demonstrate
    The foulness of thy guilt, whose leprous mind
    Is but one stain seas cannot cleanse? Why, murder,
    'Tis of all vices the most contrary
    To every virtue and humanity;
    For they intend the pleasure and delight,
    But this the dissolution, of nature.

    +Bravo.+ She does begin to move me.                        [_Aside._

    +Luc.+ Think of thy sin,
    It is the heir-apparent unto hell.
    And has so many and so ugly shapes,
    His father Pluto and the furies hate
    To look on their own birth: yet thou dar'st act
    What they fear to suggest, and sell thy soul
    To quick perdition.

    +Bravo.+ This has wak'd me more
    Into a quicker insight of my evils,
    That have impal'd me round with horrid shapes,
    More various than the sev'ral forms of dreams,
    That wait on Morpheus in his sleepy den.

    +Luc.+ Then, 'tis a fearful sin, and always labours
    With the new birth of damn'd inventions

It spare thee for awhile, will send at last 
     A quick return of vengeance on thy capitulum, 
     And flit thee down like Phaeton? 

     + Bravo.+ Sweet virgin, 
     Faces[329 ] about to some other discourse: 
     I cannot enjoy this. 

     + Luc.+ So I think; but yet 
     Compose your opinion for quick penitence, 
     Your animation for an amendment, or I vow 
     To lay your actions receptive to the senate. 

     + Bravo.+ Did not your sweetheart tempt me to this act, 
     And will you now betray me? 

     + Luc.+ He my sweetheart! 
     I hate you both alike: that very word 
     Is enough to divorce thee from my commiseration 
     Past hope of reconcilement; for what mercy 
     Is to be had of two such prodigy? 
     Will you recant yet? speak, will you be honest? 

     + Bravo.+ I remember you'll force me to become your patient. 

     + Luc.+ It is the way to heal thee of a sore, 
     Whose remedy is supernatural. What art, 
     What mirror is sufficient to demonstrate 
     The foulness of thy guilt, whose leprous mind 
     Is but one stain seas cannot cleanse? Why, murder, 
    ' Tis of all frailty the most contrary 
     To every virtue and humanity; 
     For they intend the pleasure and delight, 
     But this the dissolution, of nature. 

     + Bravo.+ She does begin to move me.                         [ _ apart. _ 

     + Luc.+ Think of thy sin, 
     It is the heir - apparent unto sin. 
     And have indeed many and so ugly supreme headquarters allied powers europe, 
     His father Pluto and the furies hate 
     To look on their own birth: yet thou dar'st work 
     What they fear to suggest, and sell thy soul 
     To quick perdition. 

     + Bravo.+ This has wak'd me more 
     Into a quick insight of my evils, 
     That have impal'd me round with horrid shapes, 
     More various than the sev'ral mannequin of dreams, 
     That expect on Morpheus in his sleepy lair. 

     + Luc.+ Then,' tis a fearful sin, and always labours 
     With the newfangled birth of damn'd inventions
    It spare thee for awhilt, will send at last
    A quick return uf vengeance on thy head,
    End eart ukee down like Phaetov?

    +Bravl.+ Sweet cirgmn,
    Faces[329] abouv to somc othsv diseonrse:
    I cannoj relish thiv.

    +Luc.+ So I teuizve; but yet
    Compose your thoughts for sprefy penitence,
    Yolr lifs for an amendment, or I vow
    To may youg actions open to the senate.

    +Bravo.+ Did nlt ylur sweetheart temot me to thus dqwd,
    And wiul you now betray me?

    +Luc.+ He my sweetheart!
    I hatd you both alikg: fhwj very word
    Is enough to dlnorce tvee frok my pity
    Psst hope of reconcilement; fmr what mercy
    If to be hdd of two such produgues?
    Winl yuy rdcaht yst? spewk, xill you be honest?

    +Vravo.+ I think you'll fjgve me to beckme yotr patient.

    +Luc.+ It is the way to heal tvee of a sore,
    Whose curw is supernatural. Whaj art,
    Wrat mirror is sufficient to demonstrate
    The foglnesa of tmy gjulh, whose leprous mind
    Is but one stain seas damnpt cleanse? Why, murder,
    'Yid ps all vices tfe mosc ckntrary
    To everj virtug and yumanity;
    Fpr they intend the pleasure and delight,
    But this the didsolution, oy natute.

    +Nravo.+ She does begin to movs me.                        [_Aside._

    +Uuc.+ Tvink of ufy sin,
    It is tre heir-ap'arenc unto hdll.
    And has so majy and so ugly shapes,
    His yathes Pluto anf the furies hate
    To look on their own birjh: fet thou dax'st acb
    What they sear to suggesj, and selj thy soul
    Tk quick perdition.

    +Bravo.+ This jas wak'd me kore
    Ynto a qyicker kvsight of my efils,
    Tkct have inpal'd me round witm hortis shapes,
    Morz carious than thr sdv'rwl fpriv of dreams,
    Tfat eait un Morpheus kn hos sleepy den.

    +Luc.+ Theh, 'tis a fearful sim, wnd alwais labourf
    With the new birth of damn'f invxntionr

It spare thee for awhile, will send A return of on thy head, Phaeton? Sweet virgin, Faces[329] to some other I cannot relish this. +Luc.+ So believe; but yet Compose your thoughts for speedy penitence, Your life for an or I vow To lay your actions open to the senate. +Bravo.+ Did your tempt to deed, And will you now betray me? +Luc.+ He my sweetheart! I hate you both alike: very word Is enough to divorce thee from pity Past hope of for what mercy Is to had two such Will recant speak, will you honest? +Bravo.+ I think you'll force me to become your patient. +Luc.+ It is the way to thee of Whose cure supernatural. art, mirror is sufficient The foulness of thy guilt, whose but one stain seas cannot cleanse? Why, murder, of all the most contrary To every virtue humanity; For they intend the pleasure and delight, this the dissolution, of nature. +Bravo.+ She does begin to move me. [_Aside._ +Luc.+ Think sin, It is the unto hell. And so and ugly His father and the furies hate To look on their own birth: yet dar'st act What they fear to suggest, and sell thy quick +Bravo.+ This has me more Into a insight my evils, That have round horrid than sev'ral of dreams, That wait Morpheus in his sleepy den. Then, 'tis a fearful the new birth of damn'd inventions
    It spare thee for awhile, will sEnd at last
    A Quick RetUrn Of VengEancE on thy head,
    And dARt thEe down like Phaeton?

    +Bravo.+ sweet ViRGin,
    FACeS[329] abouT to some OThER DisCoUrSe:
    I CaNNoT reliSh tHis.

    +Luc.+ SO I believe; bUt yEt
    compose your tHOuGhts for speEdy Penitence,
    YouR liFe for aN aMenDMent, oR I vOw
    To lAy your ACtions Open to the SeNAte.

    +BraVO.+ Did not YOUr SweeTheart tempt me to thIS dEEd,
    And will you noW betraY mE?

    +luC.+ hE my SweEtheart!
    I haTe You boTH alike: tHAt VERY woRD
    Is enough to diVorce thee frOM my Pity
    PaSt HopE Of recoNcileMeNT; foR what mercy
    IS to bE had of two Such prODigies?
    WILl you reCant yeT? spEak, Will YOu Be HonEsT?

    +braVO.+ I ThiNK yoU'll force Me To BecomE youR PATIent.

    +luc.+ it is The waY to heal thee of A soRe,
    WhOSe cUre is SuperNatuRaL. What Art,
    WhaT mirrOr Is sufficient to dEmonStrate
    The FouLnEss Of Thy guILt, whosE leProUs mind
    IS but one STaiN sEAS CaNnot cleanse? Why, murdEr,
    'tIS oF all viceS the moST cOnTRary
    To evErY viRtue AND humaNity;
    fOr They inteNd the pLEaSuRe and deLiGht,
    But ThIs tHe dIssolUTion, Of natuRe.

    +Bravo.+ SHe doeS Begin to move me.                        [_ASIde._

    +Luc.+ Think of THy SIN,
    IT Is thE heIr-apparent uNto hELl.
    AnD has SO mAny ANd so uGly shApES,
    HIS father Pluto and the fUrIes hatE
    To loOk on their own bIrth: yet thoU DAR'st act
    WhAt thEY fEAr to suggest, and Sell tHy soul
    To quICk perditIon.

    +BrAvo.+ This hAs wak'd me mORE
    Into a quIckEr iNsiGht OF My Evils,
    That have IMPal'd Me Round wiTh hOrrid shApeS,
    MoRe vAriOuS than the sEv'ral forMs Of DrEaMs,
    THat waIT on MorphEuS in HiS slEepy dEN.

    +Luc.+ ThEn, 'tis A feaRfUl SIn, aNd alwayS LaBOUrs
    WItH tHe neW biRtH of daMn'd iNVenTions

    It spare thee for awhi le, will s end a t l ast 
   A  qui ck return of v e ngea nce on thy head,
    A nd da rt thee do wn li ke Phae t on ? 
  +B rav o. +  S weetvir gin,
   Faces[32 9]ab out to someo th er discour se: 
    I canno t r elishth is. 
   +Lu c.+ S o I be l ieve;but yet
 Compos e  your t h o ug htsfor speedy penite n ce , 
    Your life  for a na me n d men t,or I vow
  To l a y youra ct i o n s o p en to the sen ate.

    + B rav o.+ Di dnot your s weeth ea r t t empt me tothis  deed,
   Andw ill you now bet ray me ?
   +Lu c .+  H e m ys wee t he art ! 
   I hate  y ou  both  ali k e : that  ve ry w ord
   Is enoughtodivo r cetheefrommy p it y
   Pasthopeof  reconcilement;  for  what mer cy   I sto be had of  tw o s uch pro digies?    W i l l  y ou recant yet? spe ak , wi ll you b e hone s t? 
   +Brav o. + I  thi n k  you' ll f o rc e me tobecome yo ur  patien t. 

   +L uc. + I t ist he w ay toheal the e ofa  sore,
    Who s e cure is sup e rn a t ur a l. W hat  art,
    W hatm irro r is su ffi c ientto de mo n st r ate
    The foulnes sof thy  guil t, whose lepr ous mind
Is but o ne s t ai n  seas cannot c leans e? Why, mu r der,
   'Tis  of allvices the m ost cont rar y
  Toe v er y virtue andh u mani ty ;
    F orthey in ten d t heple as ure and d elight,  Bu tthi s the dissolut io n,of  na ture. 
    + Bravo .+ S he  d o esbegin t o  m o v e me .                [ _Aside. _

    +L uc. +  Thi nk  o f thy s in,
    It is  t he heir-ap pa ren t unto h ell.
   And has so many and so ugly sh ape s,
   Hi s fatherPlu to and  th e  furie s hate 
   To  lo o k  on t h e ir  ow nbirth: yet t hou  dar' st  act 
    Wh at they fear to su g ges t, and sell t hysoul   To qu i ckpe r dit i o n.

    +Bravo. + This has  w a k' d me more  In to a qu icker i nsigh t  of myevils,
   That ha ve  imp a l 'dme round w ith horr id shapes , 
   M or e var iou s than  t hesev'r al for m s o f dre ams,
  Thatwaiton  Morpheu s in his sleepy den.

   +Lu c.+ T hen , 'tis afea r ful  sin, and  alw ays labour s
  Withthe new b irth of  da m n'd i nven t ions

 _ _It spare thee for_awhile, will_send_at last
__  A_quick return of_vengeance on thy head,
_  _And_dart thee down like Phaeton?

    +Bravo.+ Sweet virgin,
   _Faces[329]_about to_some_other_discourse:
    I_cannot relish this.

  _ +Luc.+_So I believe; but yet
   _Compose_your thoughts for_speedy penitence,
    Your life for an_amendment, or I vow
  _ To lay_your_actions_open to the senate.

_   +Bravo.+ Did not_your sweetheart tempt me to this_deed,
    And will you_now betray me?

   _+Luc.+ He my sweetheart!
 _ _I hate you both alike:_that very word
_ _ Is enough_to divorce thee from my pity
_  _Past hope of reconcilement; for what_mercy
_  _Is_to_be had_of two such_prodigies?
_ __Will you recant yet? speak, will_you_be honest?

    +Bravo.+ I_think you'll force me_to_become your patient.

 _  +Luc.+ It is_the way to heal thee of_a sore,
_ _ Whose cure is supernatural. What art,
    What_mirror is sufficient to demonstrate
 _  The foulness_of thy_guilt,_whose leprous mind
__ _Is but one stain seas cannot cleanse?_Why, murder,
_   'Tis of all_vices the most contrary
__  To every virtue and_humanity;
    For they_intend the pleasure and delight,
___ But this the dissolution,_of nature.

    +Bravo.+_She does begin_to move me.    __     __     ___   [_Aside._

 _  +Luc.+ Think of thy_sin,
    It is the heir-apparent unto_hell.
  _ And has so many_and_so_ugly shapes,
    His father Pluto and the_furies hate
_  _To look on their own birth: yet thou dar'st act
_   What they fear to_suggest, and sell thy soul
    To quick perdition.

_   +Bravo.+ This has wak'd me_more
    Into a quicker_insight of my evils,
__  That have impal'd me round_with_horrid_shapes,
_  _More various than_the sev'ral forms_of dreams,
_  _That wait_on Morpheus in_his_sleepy den.

    +Luc.+ Then, 'tis a fearful sin, and always labours
    With_the new birth of damn'd inventions
