Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/34

Rh And what I am you made me. If some day I ever were damn'd, which kind Heav'n forbid! 'Twould be of you, you only, led astray!

Woman look only in the glass and mark Your petty peevish mouth and foolish chin, Mean, narrow brows with envy's wrinkles scored. The Devil had no need your door to storm, For it stood ever open and ajar, That any wandering demon might harbour there. Not fenced and guarded for God's garden, you! Your soul lay ever fallow for the Fiend: No alabaster box of ointment, once To gracious holy service consecrate Turn'd now to basest uses, always you Were vessel of dishonour.

Part we thus?