VEN. Why, that was motherly said.[101] [_Exeunt._
GRA. I wonder now, what fury did transport me! I feel good thoughts begin to settle in me. O, with what forehead can I look on her, Whose honour I've so impiously beset? And here she comes--
CAS. Now, mother, you have wrought with me so strongly, That what for my advancement, as to calm The trouble of your tongue, I am content.
CAS. To do as you have wish'd me; To prostitute my breast to the duke's son; And put myself to common usury.
CAS. Hope you I will not? That's not the hope you look to be sav'd in.
CAS. Do not deceive yourself, I am as you, e'en out of marble wrought. What would you now? are ye not pleas'd yet with me? You shall not wish me to be more lascivious Than I intend to be.
CAS. How often have you charg'd me on your blessing To be a cursed woman? When you knew Your blessing had no force to make me lewd, You laid your curse upon me; that did more, The mother's curse is heavy; where that lights, Suns set in storm, and daughters lose their rights.[102]
GRA. Good child, dear maid, if there be any spark Of heavenly intellectual fire within thee, O, let my breath revive it to a flame! Put not all out with woman's wilful follies. I am recover'd of that foul disease, That haunts too many mothers; kind, forgive me, Make me not sick in health! If then My words prevail'd, when they were wickedness, How much more now, when they are just and good?
CAS. I wonder what you mean! are not you she, For whose infect persuasions I could scarce Kneel out my prayers, and had much ado In three hours' reading to untwist so much Of the black serpent as you wound about me?
GRA. 'Tis unfruitful, child,[103] [and] tedious to repeat What's past; I'm now your present mother.
GRA. Bethink again: thou know'st not what thou say'st.
CAS. No! deny advancement! treasure! the duke's son!
GRA. O, cease![104] I spoke those words, and now they poison me! What will the deed do then? Advancement? true; as high as shame can pitch! For treasure! who e'er knew a harlot rich? Or could build by the purchase of her sin An hospital to keep her[105] bastards in? The duke's son! O, when women are young courtiers, They are sure to be old beggars; To know the miseries most harlots taste, Thou'dst wish thyself unborn, when thou art unchaste.