work like a silkworm. [Enter Brachiano.] Come, sister, darkness hides
your blush. Women are like cursed dogs: civility keeps them tied all
daytime, but they are let loose at midnight; then they do most good, or
most mischief. My lord, my lord!


Zanche brings out a carpet, spreads it, and lays on it two fair cushions.
Enter Cornelia listening, but unperceived.


Brach. Give credit: I could wish time would stand still,
And never end this interview, this hour;
But all delight doth itself soon'st devour.
Let me into your bosom, happy lady,
Pour out, instead of eloquence, my vows.
Loose me not, madam, for if you forgo me,
I am lost eternally.


Vit. Sir, in the way of pity,
I wish you heart-whole.


Brach. You are a sweet physician.


Vit. Sure, sir, a loathed cruelty in ladies
Is as to doctors many funerals:
It takes away their credit.