_Viol_. I laugh at this, proceed.
_Jam_.
This Soul I speak of,
Or rather Salt to keep this heap of flesh
From being a walking stench, like a large Inn,
Stands open for the entertainment of
All impious practices: but there's no Corner
An honest thought can take up: and as it were not
Sufficient in your self to comprehend
All wicked plots, you have taught the Fool, my Brother,
By your contagion, almost to put off
The nature of the man, and turn'd him Devil,
Because he should be like you, and I hope
Will march to Hell together: I have spoken,
And if the Limning you in your true Colours
Can make the Painter gracious, I stand ready
For my reward, or if my words distaste you,
I weigh it not, for though your Grooms were ready
To cut my Throat for't, be assur'd I cannot
Use other Language.
_Viol_.
You think you have said now,
Like a brave fellow: in this Womans War
You ever have been train'd: spoke big, but suffer'd
Like a tame Ass; and when most spur'd and gall'd
Were never Master of the Spleen or Spirit,
That could raise up the anger of a man,
And force it into action.
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