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Had got his form upon him.—

       [Enter Husband again.]

       He comes again.

       He says I am the cause; I never yet

       Spoke less then words of duty, and of love.

       HUSBAND. If marriage be honourable, then Cuckolds are honourable, for they cannot be made without marriage. Fool! what meant I to marry to get beggars? now must my eldest son be a knave or nothing; he cannot live uppot’h fool, for he will have no land to maintain him: that mortgage sits like a snaffle upon mine inheritance, and makes me chaw upon Iron. My second son must be a promoter, and my third a thief, or an underputter, a slave pander. Oh beggery, beggery, to what base uses dost thou put a man! I think the Devil scorns to be a bawd. He bears himself more proudly, has more care on’s credit. Base, slavish, abject, filthy poverty!

       WIFE.

       Good sir, by all our vows I do beseech you,

       Show me the true cause of your discontent.

       HUSBAND.

       Money, money, money, and thou must supply me.

       WIFE.

       Alas, I am the lest cause of your discontent,

       Yet what is mine, either in rings or Jewels,

       Use to your own desire, but I beseech you,

       As y’are a gentleman by many bloods,

       Though I my self be out of your respect,

       Think on the state of these three lovely boys

       You have been father to.

       HUSBAND. Puh! Bastards, bastards, bastards; begot in tricks, begot in tricks.

       WIFE.

       Heaven knows how those words wrong me, but I may

       Endure these griefs among a thousand more.

       Oh, call to mind your lands already mortgage,

       Your self wound with debts, your hopeful brother

       At the university in bonds for you,

       Like to be ceasd upon; And—

       HUSBAND.

       Ha done, thou harlot,

       Whom, though for fashion sake I married,

       I never could abide; thinkst thou thy words

       Shall kill my pleasures? Fall off to thy friends,

       Thou and thy bastards beg: I will not bate

       A whit in humor! midnight, still I love you,

       And revel in your Company. Curbd in,

       Shall it be said in all societies,

       That I broke custom, that I flagd in money?

       No, those thy jewels I will play as freely

       As when my state was fullest.

       WIFE.

       Be it so.

       HUSBAND.

       Nay I protest, and take that for an earnest,

       [spurns her]

       I will for ever hold thee in contempt,

       And never touch the sheets that cover thee,

       But be divorst in bed till thou consent,

       Thy dowry shall be sold to give new life

       Unto those pleasures which I most affect.

       WIFE.

       Sir, do but turn a gentle eye on me,

       And what the law shall give me leave to do

       You shall command.

       HUSBAND.

       Look it be done: shall I want dust and like a slave

       Wear nothing in my pockets but my hands

       To fill them up with nails?

       [holding his hands in his pockets]

       Oh much against my blood! Let it be done.

       I was never made to be a looker on,

       A bawd to dice; I’ll shake the drabs my self

       And made em yield. I say, look it be done.

       WIFE.

       I take my leave: it shall.

       [Exit.]

       HUSBAND. Speedily, speedily. I hate the very hour I chose a wife: a trouble, trouble! three children like three evils hang upon me. Fie, fie, fie, strumpet and bastards, strumpet and bastards!

       [Enter three Gentlemen hearing him.]

       1 GENTLEMAN.

       Still do those loathsome thoughts

       Jar on your tongue?

       Your self to stain the honour of your wife,

       Nobly descended! Those whom men call mad

       Endanger others; but he’s more than mad

       That wounds himself, whose own words do proclaim

       Scandals unjust, to soil his better name:

       It is not fit; I pray, forsake it.

       2 GENTLEMAN. Good sir, let modesty reprove you.

       3 GENTLEMAN. Let honest kindness sway so much with you.

       HUSBAND.

       God den, I thank you, sir, how do you? adieu! I’m glad to

       see you. Farewell

       Instructions, Admonitions.

       [Exeunt Gentlemen.]

       [Enter a servant.]

       HUSBAND.

       How now, sirra; what would you?

       SERVANT. Only to certify you, sir, that my mistress was met by the way, by them who were sent for her up to London by her honorable uncle, your worships late guardian.

       HUSBAND. So, sir, then she is gone and so may you be: But let her look that the thing be done she wots of: or hell will stand more pleasant then her house at home.

       [Exit servant.]

       [Enter a Gentleman.]

       GENTLEMAN.

       Well or ill met, I care not.

       HUSBAND.

       No, nor I.

       GENTLEMAN.

       I am come with confidence to chide you.

       HUSBAND.

       Who? me?

       Chide me? Doo’t finely then: let it not move me,

       For if thou chidst me angry, I shall strike.

       GENTLEMAN.

       Strike thine own follies, for it is they deserve

       To be well beaten. We are now in private:

       There’s none but thou and I. Thou’rt fond and peevish,

       An unclean rioter: thy lands and Credit

       Lie now both sick of a consumption.

       I am sorry for thee: that man spends with shame

       That with his riches does consume his name:

       And such thou art.

       HUSBAND.

       Peace.

       GENTLEMAN.

       No, thou shalt hear me further:

       Thy fathers and forefathers worthy honors,

       Which were our country monuments, our grace,

       Follies in thee begin now to deface.

       The spring time of thy youth did fairly promise

       Such a most fruitful summer to thy friends

      

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