_Alf_. Against their kind the land Rats took the water
And swomme in little armies to the house,
And, though we drownd and killed innumerable,
Their numbers were like _Hydra's_ heads increasing;
Ruine bred more untill our brother died.

_Duke_. The house is execrable; Ile not enter.

_Hat_. You need not feare, my Lord; the house is free
From all resort of Rats; for _at his death,
As if a trumpet sounded a retreat,
They made a kind of murmure and departed_."

THE COSTLIE WHORE.

A COMICALL HISTORIE,

Acted by the companie of _the Revels_.

LONDON Printed by _Augustine Mathewes_, for WILLIAM SHEARES, and HVGH
PERRIE, and are to be sold at their shoppe, in _Brittaines Burse_. 1633.

The Actors Names.

_Duke of Saxonie_.
_Fredericke_ his sonne.
_Hatto_, | Brothers to the Duke.
_Al[f]rid_, |
_Montano_, kinsman to the Duke.
_Euphrata_, daughter to the Duke.
_Constantine_, a lover of _Euphrata_.
_Otho_, a friend to _Constantine_.
_Alberto_, | Two Lords.
_Reynaldo_, |
_Vandermas_, a Pander.
_Valentia_, the Costly _Whore_.
_Julia_, a Gentlewoman to _Euphrata_.
_Two Maides_.
_Petitioners_.
_Beggers_.
_Servants_.

THE COSTLY _WHORE_.

[_Act the First_.]

[SCENE 1.]

_Enter Constantine and Otho_.

_Constantine_. How do'st thou like the lovely _Euphrata_?

_Otho_. I did not marke her.

_Const_. Then thou didst not marke
The fairest _Saxon_ Lady in mine eye
That ever breath'd a maid.

_Otho_. Your minde now knowne,
Ile say shee is the fairest in the world,
Were she the foulest.

_Con_. Then thou canst dissemble.

_Otho_. You know I cannot; but, deare _Constantine_,
I prethee tell me first, what is that Ladie,
That wonder of her sexe, cal'd _Euphrata_?
Whose daughter is she?

_Const_. I cannot blame thee, _Otho_,
Though thou be ignorant of her high worth,
Since here in _Saxon_ we are strangers both;
But if thou cal'st to minde why we left _Meath_,
Reade the trice[162] reason in that Ladies eye,
Daughter unto the Duke of _Saxonie_,
Shee unto whom so many worthy Lords
Vail'd Bonnet when she past the Triangle,
Making the pavement Ivory where she trode.

_Otho_. She that so lightly toucht the marble path
That leadeth from the Temple to the presence?

_Const_. The same.

_Otho_. Why, that was white before,
White Marble, _Constantine_, whiter by odds
Then that which lovers terme the Ivory hand,
Nay then the Lillie wh