MRS GOUR. What am I?
MRS BAR. Why, that's as you will be ever.
MRS GOUR. That's every day as good as Barnes's wife.
MRS BAR. And better too: then, what needs all this trouble?
A single horse is worse than that bears double.
MR BAR. Wife, go to, have regard to what you say; Let not your words pass forth the verge of reason, But keep within the bounds of modesty; For ill-report doth like a bailiff stand, To pound the straying and the wit-lost tongue, And makes it forfeit into folly's hands.
Well, wife, you know it is no honest part To entertain such guests with jests and wrongs: What will the neighbouring country vulgar say, When as they hear that you fell out at dinner?
Forsooth, they'll call it a pot-quarrel straight; The best they'll name it is a woman's jangling.
Go to, be rul'd, be rul'd.
MRS BAR. God's Lord, be rul'd, be rul'd!
What, think ye I have such a baby's wit, To have a rod's correction for my tongue?
School infancy! I am of age to speak, And I know when to speak: shall I be chid For such a--
MRS GOUR. What-a? nay, mistress, speak it out; I scorn your stopp'd compares: compare not me To any but your equals, Mistress Barnes.
MR GOUR. Peace, wife, be quiet.
MR BAR. O, persuade, persuade!
Wife, Mistress Goursey, shall I win your thoughts To composition of some kind effects?
Wife, if you love your credit, leave this strife, And come shake hands with Mistress Goursey here.
MRS BAR. Shall I shake hands? let her go shake her heels; She gets nor hands nor friendship at my hands: And so, sir, while I live, I will take heed, What guests I bid again unto my house.
MR BAR. Impatient woman, will you be so stiff In this absurdness?
MRS BAR. I am impatient now I speak; But, sir, I'll tell you more another time: Go to, I will not take it as I have done.
[_Exit_.
MRS GOUR. Nay, she might stay; I will not long be here To trouble her. Well, Master Barnes, I am sorry that it was our haps to-day, To have our pleasures parted with this fray: I am sorry too for all that is amiss, Especially that you are mov'd in this; But be not so, 'tis but a woman's jar: Their tongues are weapons, words their blows of war; 'Twas but a while we buffeted, you saw, And each of us was willing to withdraw; There was no harm nor bloodshed, you did see: Tush, fear us not, for we shall well agree.
I take my leave, sir. Come, kind-hearted man, That speaks his wife so fair--ay, now and then; I know you would not for an hundreth pound, That I should hear your voice's churlish sound; I know you have a far more milder tune Than "Peace, be quiet, wife;" but I have done.
Will ye go home? the door directs the way; But, if you will not, my duty is to stay[225].
MR BAR. Ha, ha! why, here's a right woman, is there not?
They both have din'd, yet see what stomachs they have!
MR. GOUR. Well, Master Barnes, we cannot do withal[226]: Let us be friends still--
MR BAR. O Master Goursey, the mettle of our minds, Having the temper of true reason in them.
Affords[227] a better edge of argument For the maintain of our familiar loves Than the soft leaden wit of women can; Wherefore with all the parts of neighbour-love I [do] impart[228] myself to Master Goursey.
MR GOUR. And with exchange of love I do receive it: Then here we'll part, partners of two curs'd wives.
MR BAR. O, where shall we find a man so bless'd that is not?
But come; your business and my home-affairs Makes me deliver that unfriendly word 'Mongst friends--farewell.
MR GOUR. Twenty farewells, sir.
MR BAR. But hark ye, Master Goursey; Look ye persuade at home, as I will do: What, man! we must not always have them foes.
MR GOUR. If I can help it.
MR BAR. God help, God help!
Women are even untoward creatures still.
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ PHILIP, FRANCIS, _and his_ BOY, _from bowling_.
PHIL. Come on, Frank Goursey: you have had good luck To win the game.
FRAN. Why, tell me, is't not good, That never play'd before upon your green?
PHIL. 'Tis good, but that it cost me ten good crowns; That makes it worse.
FRAN. Let it not grieve thee, man; come o'er to us; We will devise some game to make you win Your money back again, sweet Philip.
PHIL. And that shall be ere long, and if I live: But tell me, Francis, what good horses have ye, To hunt this summer?
FRAN. Two or three jades, or so.
PHIL. Be they but jades?
FRAN. No, faith; my wag-string here Did founder one the last time that he rid-- The best grey nag that ever I laid my leg over.
BOY. You mean the flea-bitten.
FRAN. Good sir, the same.
BOY. And was the same the best that e'er you rid on?
FRAN. Ay, was it, sir.
BOY. I'faith, it was not, sir.
FRAN. No! where had I one so good?
BOY. One of my colour, and a better too.
FRAN. One of your colour? I ne'er remember him: One of that colour!
BOY. Or of that complexion.
FRAN. What's that ye call complexion in a horse?