I’m dying; it’s a thing soon said, And even sooner the thing’s real. You women-folk, why weep and wail? Just hear me speak before I’m dead. [They all gather round him.] Meg, listen: you’re still a poor young chit, You’ve not yet got the hang of it, You’re bungling things, d’you see? Just let me tell you in confidence: Since you’re a whore now, have some sense And do it properly!

My brother! God! What do you mean?

Leave God out of this little scene! What’s done is done, I’m sorry to say, And things must go their usual way. You started in secret with one man; Soon others will come where he began, And when a dozen have joined the queue The whole town will be having you! Let me tell you about disgrace: It enters the world as a secret shame, Born in the dark without a name, With the hood of night about its face. It’s something that you’ll long to kill. But as it grows, it makes its way Even into the light of day; It’s bigger, but it’s ugly still! The filthier its face has grown, The more it must be seen and shown. There’ll come a time, and this I know, All decent folk will abhor you so, You slut! that like a plague-infected Corpse you’ll be shunned, you’ll be rejected, They’ll look at you and your heart will quail, Their eyes will all tell the same tale! You’ll have no gold chains or jewellery then, Never stand in church by the altar again, Never have any pretty lace to wear At the dance, for you’ll not be dancing there! Into some dark corner may you creep Among beggars and cripples to hide and weep; And let God forgive you as he may— But on earth be cursed till your dying day!

Commend your soul to God’s mercy too! Will you die with blasphemy on you?

Vile hag, vile bawd! If I could take You by the skinny throat and shake The life out of you, that alone, For all my sins it would atone.