That knows no God more mighty than her mischiefs:
Thou dost still worst, still number on thy faults,
To press my poor heart thus. Can I believe
There's any seed of Vertue in that woman
Left to shoot up, that dares go on in sin
Known, and so known as thine is, O _Evadne_!
Would there were any safety in thy sex,
That I might put a thousand sorrows off,
And credit thy repentance: but I must not;
Thou hast brought me to the dull calamity,
To that strange misbelief of all the world,
And all things that are in it, that I fear
I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave,
Only remembring that I grieve.

_Evad_. My Lord,
Give me your griefs: you are an innocent,
A soul as white as heaven: let not my sins
Perish your noble youth: I do not fall here
To shadow by dissembling with my tears,
As all say women can, or to make less
What my hot will hath done, which heaven and you
Knows to be tougher than the hand of time
Can cut from mans remembrance; no I do not;
I do appear the same, the same _Evadne_,
Drest in the shames I liv'd in, the same monster.
But these are names of honour, to what I am;
I do present my self the foulest creature,
Most poysonous, dangerous, and despis'd of men,
_Lerna_ e're bred, or _Nilus_; I am hell,