_Wol_. Oh _Hubert_, these your words and reasons have
As well drawn drops of blood from my griev'd heart,
As these tears from mine eyes;
Despise them not.
By all that's sacred, I am serious, _Hubert_,
You now have made me sensible, what furies,
Whips, Hangmen, and Tormentors a bad man
Do's ever bear about him: let the good
That you this day have done, be ever number'd
The first of your best actions;
Can you think,
Where _Goswin_ is or _Gerrard_, or your love,
Or any else, or all that are proscrib'd?
I will resign, what I usurp, or have
Unjustly forc'd; the dayes I have to live
Are too too few to make them satisfaction
With any penitence: yet I vow to practise
All of a man.

_Hub_. O that your heart and tongue
Did not now differ!

_Wol_. By my griefs they do not.
Take the good pains to search them out: 'tis worth it,
You have made clean a Leper: trust me you have,
And made me once more fit for the society,
I hope of good men.

_Hub_. Sir, do not abuse