DEFLORES I've a token for you. BEAT...

DEFLORES I've a token for you.

BEATRICE For me?

DEFLORES But it was sent somewhat unwillingly:

I could not get the ring without the finger.

BEATRICE Bless me! What hast thou done?

DEFLORES Why, is that more

Than killing the whole man? I cut his heart strings.

A greedy hand thrust in a dish at court

In a mistake hath had as much as this.

BEATRICE 'Tis the first token my father made me send him.

DEFLORES

And I made him send it back again

For his last token. I was loathe to leave it,

And I'm sure dead men have no use of jewels;

He was as loath to part with't, for it stuck

As if the flesh and it were both one substance.

BEATRICE At the stag's fall the keeper has his fees;

'Tis soon apply'd: all dead men's fees are yours, sir.

I pray bury the finger, but the stone

You may make use on shortly; the true value,

Take't of my truth, is near three hundred ducats.

DEFLORES 'Twill hardly buy a capcase for one's conscience, though,

To keep it from the worm, as fine as 'tis.

Well, being my fees I'll take it;

Great men have taught me that, or else my merit

Would scorn the way on't.

BEATRICE It might justly, sir.

Why, thou mistak'st, Deflores: 'tis not given

In state of recompense.

DEFLORES No, I hope so, lady;

You should soon witness my contempt to't then.

BEATRICE Prithee, thou look'st as if thou wert offended.

DEFLORES That were strange, lady; 'tis not possible

My service should draw such a cause from you.

Offended? Could you think so? That were much

For one of my performance, and so warm

Yet in my service.

BEATRICE 'Twere misery in me to give you cause, sir.

DEFLORES I know so much; it were so, misery

In her most sharp condition.

BEATRICE 'Tis resolv'd then.

Look you, sir, here's three thousand golden florins;

I have not meanly thought upon thy merit.

DEFLORES What, salary? Now you move me!

BEATRICE How, Deflores?

DEFLORES Do you place me in the rank of verminous fellows

To destroy things for wages? Offer gold?

The lifeblood of man! Is anything

Valued too precious for my recompense?

BEATRICE I understand thee not.

DEFLORES I could ha' hir'd

A journeyman in murder at this rate,

And mine own conscience might have [slept at ease]

And have had the work brought home!

BEATRICE [Aside] I'm in a labyrinth;

What will content him? I would fain be rid of him.--

I'll double the sum, sir.

DEFLORES You take a course

To double my vexation, that's the good you do.

BEATRICE [Aside] Bless me! I am now in worse plight than I was;

I know not what will please him.--For my fear's sake,

I prithee make away with all speed possible.

And if thou be'st so modest not to name

The sum that will content thee, paper blushes not:

Send thy demand in writing, it shall follow thee;

But prithee take thy flight.

DEFLORES You must fly too then.

BEATRICE I?

DEFLORES I'll not stir a foot else.

BEATRICE What's your meaning?

DEFLORES Why, are not you as guilty, in, I'm sure,

As deep as I? And we should stick together.

Come, your fears counsel you but ill: my absence

Would draw suspect upon you instantly;

There were no rescue for you.

BEATRICE [Aside] He speaks home.

DEFLORES Nor is it fit we two engag'd so jointly

Should part and live asunder.

[He tries to kiss her.]

BEATRICE How now, sir?

This shows not well.

DEFLORES What makes your lip so strange?

This must not be 'twixt us.

BEATRICE [Aside] The man talks wildly.

DEFLORES Come, kiss me with a zeal now!

BEATRICE [Aside] Heaven, I doubt him!

DEFLORES I will not stand so long to beg 'em shortly.

BEATRICE Take heed, DeFlores, of forgetfulness;

'Twill soon betray us.

DEFLORES Take you heed first;

Faith, y'are grown much forgetful: y'are too blame in't.

BEATRICE _[Aside] _He's bold, and I am blam'd for't.

DEFLORES I have eas'd

You of your trouble; think on't: I'm in pain

And must be eas'd of you; 'tis a charity.

Justice invites your blood to understand me.

BEATRICE I dare not.

DEFLORES Quickly.

BEATRICE Oh, I never shall!

Speak it yet further off that I may lose

What has been spoken, and no sound remain on't!

I would not hear so much offence again

For such another deed.

DEFLORES Soft, lady, soft;

The last is not yet paid for. Oh, this act

Has put me into spirit; I was as greedy on't

As the parch'd earth of moisture when the clouds weep.

Did you not mark I wrought myself into't?

Nay, sued and kneel'd for't? Why was all that pains took?

You see I have thrown contempt upon your gold;

Not that I want it [not], for I do piteously:

In order I will come unto't and make use on't.

But 'twas not held so precious to begin with,

For I place wealth after the heels of pleasure,

And were I not resolv'd in my belief

That thy virginity were perfect in thee,

I should but take my recompense with grudging,

As if I had but half my hopes I agreed for.

BEATRICE Why, 'tis impossible thou canst be so wicked,

Or shelter such a cunning cruelty,

To make his death the murderer of my honour!

Thy language is so bold and vicious,

I cannot see which way I can forgive it

With any modesty.

DEFLORES Push, you forget yourself:

A woman dipp'd in blood and talk of modesty!

BEATRICE Oh, misery of sin! Would I had been bound

Perpetually unto my living hate

In that Piracquo than to hear these words!

Think but upon the distance that creation

Set 'twixt thy blood and mine, and keep thee there.

DEFLORES Look but into your conscience, read me there:

'Tis a true book; you'll find me there your equal.

Push, fly not to your birth, but settle you

In what the act has made you; y'are no more now.

You must forget your parentage to me;

Y'are the deeds creature: by that name

You lost your first condition, and I challenge you,

As peace and innocency has turn'd you out

And made you one with me.

BEATRICE With thee, foul villain?

DEFLORES Yes, my fair murderess. Do you urge me?

Though thou writ'st maid, thou whore in thy affection,

'Twas chang'd from thy first love, and that's a kind

Of whoredom in thy heart; and he's chang'd now

To bring thy second on, thy Alsemero,

Whom, by all sweets that ever darkness tasted,

If I enjoy thee not, thou ne'er enjoy'st.

I'll blast the hopes and joys of marriage;

I'll confess all, my life I rate at nothing.

Thomas Middleton and William Rowley. The Changeling. http://www.tech.org/~cleary/change.html.

Full text of The Changeling: http://www.tech.org/~cleary/change.html

Wikipedia entry on The Changeling: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TheChangeling(play)