FRIAR: Dispute no more in this, for kno...

FRIAR: Dispute no more in this, for know, young man,

These are no shool-points; nice philosophy

May tolerate unlikely arguments,

But Heaven admits no jest; wits that presumed

On wit too much, by striving how to prove

There was no God, with foolish grounds of art,

Discovered first the nearest way to Hell;

And filled the world with devilish atheism.

Such questions, youth, are fond; for better 'tis,

To bless the sun, than reason why it shines;

Yet he though talk'st of is above the sun-

No more! I may not hear it.

GIOVANNI: Gentle Father,

To you I have unclasped my burdened soul,

Emptied the storehouse of my thoughts and heart,

Made myself poor of secrets; have not left

Another word untold, which hath not spoke

All what I ever durst, or think, or know;

And yet is here the comfort I shall have?

Must I not do what all men else may - love?

Must I not praise

That beauty, which if framed anew, the gods

Would make a god of, if they had it there,

And kneel to it, as I do kneel to them?

FRIAR: Why, foolish madman!

GIOVANNI: Shall a peevish sound,

A customary form, from man to man,

Of brother and of sister, be a bar

Twixt my perpetual happiness and me?

Say that we had one father, say one womb

(Curse to my joys) gave both us life and birth;

Are we not therefore to each other bound

So much the more by nature; by the links

Of blood, of reason? nay, if you will have't,

Even of religion, to be ever one:

One soul, one flesh, one love, one heart, one all?

FRIAR: Have done, unhappy youth, for thou art lost.

GIOVANNI: Shall then, for that I am her brother born,

My joys be ever banished from her bed?

No, Father; in your eyes I see the change

Of pity and compassion;, from your age,

As from a sacred oracle, distils

The life of counsel. Tell me, holy man,

What cure shall give me ease in these extremes?

FRIAR: Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin

-For thou has moved a Majesty above

With thy unranged almost blasphemy.

GIOVANNI: O do not speak of that, dear confessor.

FRIAR: Art thou, my son, that miracle of wit

Who once, within these three months, wert esteemed

A wonder of thine age, throughout Bologna?

How did the university applaud

Thy government, behavior, learning, speech,

Sweetness, and all that could make up a man!

I was proud of my tutelage, and chose

Rather to leave my books than part with thee.

I did so: but the fruits of all my hopes

Are lost in thee, as thou art in thyself.

O Giovanni! Hast thou left the schools

Of knowledge, to converse with lust and death?

For death waits on thy lust. Look through the world,

And thou shalt see a thousand faces shine

More glorious than this idol thou ador'st:

Leave her, and take thy choice, 'tis much less sin,

Though in such games as those, they lose that win.

GIOVANNI: It were more ease to stop the ocean

From floats and ebbs, than to dissuade my vows.

FRIAR: Then I have done, an in thy wilful flames

Already see thy ruin: Heaven is just,

Yet hear my counsel.

The voice of life.

Hie to thy father's house, there lock thee fast

Alone within thy chamber, then fall down

On both thy knees, and grovel on the ground.

Cry to thy heart, wash every word thou utter'st

In tears (and if't be possible) of blood:

Beg Heaven to cleanse the leprosy of lust

That rots thy soul. Acknowledge what thou art,

A wretch, a worm, a nothing: weep, sigh, pray

Three times a day, and three times every night.

For seven days' space do this, then if thou find'st

No change in thy desires, return to me:

I'll think on remedy. Pray for thyself

At home, whilst I pray for thee here - away,

My blessing with thee; we have need to pray.

GIOVANNI: All this I'll do, to free me from the rod

Of vengeance; else I'll swear, my fate's my god.

Exeunt

Ford, John. Tis Pity She’s a Whore. http://www.johnwebster.galeon.com/writersworks/pity/act1.1pity.htm

Read the full text of 'Tis Pity She's a Whore here at Galeon.com