For a false whore, the devil overthrow her!
My mother, when she died, gave me to her alone,
And a starker bawd was there never none.
For that I know I dare well say:[47]
Let see the contrary who can lay.
I have been at her house and seen her trinkets
For painting; things innumerable;
Squalms and balms; I wonder where she gets
The things that she hath with folks for to fable,
And to all bawdry ever agreeable.
Yet worse than that, which will never be laft,
Not only a bawd, but a witch by her craft.
CEL. Say what thou wilt, son, spare not me.
SEM. I pray thee, Parmeno, leave thy malicious envy.
[_Calisto goes aside_.
PAR. Hark hither, Sempronio, here is but we three;
In that I have said canst thou deny?
GAL. Come hence, Parmeno, I love not this, I;
And, good mother, grieve you not, I you pray.
My mind I shall show now, hark what I say.
O notable woman, O ancient virtue!
O glorious hope of my desired intent!
The end of my delectable hope to renew:
My regeneration to this life present,
Resurrection from death so excellent;
Thou art above [all] other. I desire humbly
To kiss thy hands, wherein lieth my remedy.
But mine unworthiness maketh resistance;
Yet worship I the ground that thou goest on,
Beseeching thee, good woman, with most reverence