HUS. This is call'd marriage. Stop your mouth, you whore.
WIFE. Thy mother was a whore, if I be one.
HUS. You know there's company in the house.
_Enter_ SUBTLE.
Sweet friend, what, have you writ your letter?
SUB. Tis done, dear friend: I have made you stay too long; I fear you'll be benighted.
HUS. Fie! no, no.
Madam and sweetest wife, farewell; God bless us.
Make much of Master Subtle here, my friend, [_Kisses her._ Till my return, which may be ev'n as't happens, According as my business hath success. [_Exit._
SUB. How will you pass the time now, fairest mistress?
WIFE. In troth, I know not: wives without their husbands, Methinks, are low'ring days.
SUB. Indeed, some wives Are like dead bodies in their husbands' absence.
WIFE. If any wife be, I must needs be so, That have a husband far above all men; Untainted with the humours others have, A perfect man, and one that loves you truly: You see the charge he left of your good usage.
SUB. Pish! he's an ass, I know him; a stark ass, Of a most barbarous condition, False-hearted to his friend, rough unto you; A most dissembling and perfidious fellow.
I care not if he heard me: this I know, And will make good upon him with my sword, Or any for him--for he will not fight.
WIFE. Fie, servant! you show small civility And less humanity: d'ye requite My husband's love thus ill? for what d'ye think Of me, that you will utter to my face Such harsh, unfriendly, slanderous injuries Even of my husband? Sir, forbear, I pray, My ears or your own tongue: I am no house-wife To hear my husband's merit thus deprav'd.
SUB. His merit is a halter, by this light.
You think he's out of town now; no such matter: But gone aside, and hath importun'd me To try your chastity.
WIFE. It cannot be.
Alas! he is as free from jealousy, And ever was, as confidence itself.
I know he loves me too-too heartily To be suspicious, or to prove my truth.
SUB. If I do feign in ought, ne'er may I purchase The grace I hope for! and, fair mistress, If you have any spirit, or wit, or sense, You will be even with such a wretched slave.
Heaven knows I love you as the air I draw!
Think but how finely you may cuckold him, And safely, too, with me, who will report To him, that you are most invincible, Your chastity not to be subdu'd by man.
WIFE. When you know I'm a whore?
SUB. A whore? fie! no; That you have been kind, or so: your whore doth live In Pickt-hatch,[92] Turnbull Street.
WIFE. Your whore lives there! [_Aside._]
Well, servant, leave me to myself awhile: Return anon; but bear this hope away, 'T shall be with you, if I at all do stray. [_Exit_ SUBTLE.
Why, here's right wordly[93] friendship! ye're well-met.
O men! what are you? why is our poor sex Still made the disgrac'd subjects in these plays For vices, folly, and inconstancy: When, were men look'd into with such critical eyes Of observation, many would be found So full of gross and base corruption, That none (unless the devil himself turn'd writer) Could feign so badly to express them truly?
Some wives that had a husband now, like mine, Would yield their honours up to any man: Far be it from my thoughts! O, let me stand, Thou God of marriage and chastity, An honour to my sex! no injury Compel the virtue of my breast to yield!
It's not revenge for any wife to stain The nuptial bed, although she be yok'd ill.
Who falls, because her husband so hath done, Cures not his wound, but in herself makes one. [_Exit_ WIFE.
SCENE III.
_Enter_ INGEN, _reading a letter; sits down in a chair, and stamps with his foot; to him a_ SERVANT.
INGEN. Who brought this letter?
SER. A little Irish footboy, sir: He stays without for an answer.
INGEN. Bid him come in. Lord!
What deep dissemblers are these females all.
How far unlike a friend this lady us'd me, And here how like one mad in love she writes.
_Enter_ MAID, _like an Irish footboy, with a dart,[94] gloves in her pocket, and a handkerchief_.
So bless me, heaven, but thou art the prettiest boy That e'er ran by a horse! hast thou dwelt long With thy fair mistress?
MAID. I came but this morning, sir.
INGEN. How fares thy lady, boy?
MAID. Like to a turtle that hath lost her mate, Drooping she sits; her grief, sir, cannot speak.
Had it a voice articulate, we should know How and for what cause she suffers; and perhaps-- But 'tis unlikely--give her comfort, sir.
Weeping she sits, and all the sound comes from her Is like the murmur of a silver brook, Which her tears truly would make there about her, Sat she in any hollow continent.
INGEN. Believe me, boy, thou hast a passionate tongue, Lively expression, or thy memory Hath carried thy lesson well away.
But wherefore mourns thy lady?
MAID. Sir, you know, And would to God I did not know myself!
INGEN. Alas! it cannot be for love to me.
When last I saw her, she revil'd me, boy, With bitterest words, and wish'd me never more To approach her sight; and for my marriage now I do sustain it as a penance due To the desert that made her banish me.
MAID. Sir, I dare swear, she did presume no words, Nor dangers had been powerful to restrain Your coming to her, when she gave the charge-- But are you married truly?
INGEN. Why, my boy, Dost think I mock myself? I sent her gloves.
MAID. The gloves she has return'd you, sir, by me, And prays you give them to some other lady, That you'll deceive next, and be perjured to.
Sure, you have wrong'd her: sir, she bad me tell you, She ne'er thought goodness dwelt in many men, But what there was of goodness in the world, She thought you had it all; but now she sees The jewel she esteem'd is counterfeit; That you are but a common man yourself-- A traitor to her and her virtuous love; That all men are betrayers, and their breasts As full of dangerous gulfs as is the sea, Where any woman, thinking to find harbour, She and her honour are precipitated, And never to be brought with safety off.
Alas, my hapless lady desolate!
Distress'd, forsaken virgin!
INGEN. Sure, this boy Is of an excellent nature who, so newly Ta'en to her service, feels his mistress' grief, As he and they were old familiar friends.
Why weep'st thou, gentle lad?
MAID. Who hath one tear, And would not save't from all occasions, From brothers' slaughters and from mothers' deaths, To spend it here for my distressed lady?
But, sir, my lady did command me beg To see your wife, that I may bear to her The sad report. What creature could make you Untie the hand fast pledged unto her?