Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/17

 For they whose faces doe bolye their hearts, Are Witches, ere they arrive at twenty yeeres, I: and give the divell sucke.

Duch. This is terrible good councell:

Ferd. Hypocrisie is woven of a fine small thred, (Subtler, then Vulcans Engine: yet (beleev't) Your darkest actions: nay, your privat'st thoughts, Will come to light.

Card. You may slatter your selfe, And take your owne choice: privately be married Under the Eves of night.

Ferd. Think't the best voyage That ere you made; like the irregular Crab, Which though't goes backward, thinkes that it goes, right, Because it goes its owne way: but observe; Such weddings, may more properly be said To be executed, then celibrated.

Card. The marriage night Is the entrance into some prison.

Ferd. And those joyes, Those lustfull pleasures, are like heavy sleepes Which doe fore-run mans mischiefe

Card. Fare you well. Wisdome begins at the end: remember it.

Duch. I thinke this speech betweene you both was studied, It came so roundly off.

Ferd. You are my sister, This was my Fathers poyniard: doe you see, I'll'd be loth to see't looke rusty, 'cause 'twas his: I would have you to give ore these chargeable Revels; A Vizor, and a Masque are whispering roomes That were nev'r built for goodnesse: fare ye well: And woemen, like that part, which (like the Lamprey) Hath nev'r a bone in't.

Duch. Fye Sir:

Ferd. Nay, I meane the Tongue: varietie of Courtship;