Fie, sirrah, a Bawd, a wicked bawd,
The euill that thou causest to be done,
That is thy meanes to liue. Do thou but thinke
What 'tis to cram a maw, or cloath a backe
From such a filthie vice: say to thy selfe,
From their abhominable and beastly touches
I drinke, I eate away my selfe, and liue:
Canst thou beleeue thy liuing is a life,
So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend
Clo. Indeed, it do's stinke in some sort, Sir:
But yet Sir I would proue
Duke. Nay, if the diuell haue giuen thee proofs for sin
Thou wilt proue his. Take him to prison Officer:
Correction, and Instruction must both worke
Ere this rude beast will profit
Elb. He must before the Deputy Sir, he ha's giuen
him warning: the Deputy cannot abide a Whore-master:
if he be a Whore-monger, and comes before him,
he were as good go a mile on his errand
Duke. That we were all, as some would seeme to bee
From our faults, as faults from seeming free.
Enter Lucio.
Elb. His necke will come to your wast, a Cord sir
Clo. I spy comfort, I cry baile: Here's a Gentleman,
and a friend of mine
Luc. How now noble Pompey? What, at the wheels
of C?sar? Art thou led in triumph? What is there none
of Pigmalions Images newly made woman to bee had
now, for putting the hand in the pocket, and extracting
clutch'd? What reply? Ha? What saist thou to this
Tune, Matter, and Method? Is't not drown'd i'th last
raine? Ha? What saist thou Trot? Is the world as it was
Man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words?
Or how? The tricke of it?
Duke.
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