But 'tis a business of affection

That must be done.-We owe a pity, madam,
To all men's misery, but especially,

To those afflictions that claim kindred of us;
We're forc'd to feel 'em, all compassion else
Is but a work of charity, this of nature,
And ties our pity in a bond of blood.

Wife. Yet there is a date set to all sorrows;
Nothing is everlasting in this world.

Your counsel will prevail, persuade him, good sir,
To fall into life's happiness again,

And leave the desolate path; I want his company.
He walks at midnight in thick shady woods,

Where scarce the moon is starlight; I have watch'd him

In silent nights, when all the earth was drest
Up like a virgin, in white innocent beams,—
Stood in my window, cold and thinly clad,

T' observe him through the bounty of the moon,
That liberally bestow'd her graces on me,

And when the morning dew began to fall,

Then was my time to weep; h'as lost his kindness,
Forgot the way of wedlock, and become

A stranger to the joys and rites of love.
He's not so good as a lord ought to be.

Pray tell him so from me-sir.

Vot. That will I, madam.

Now must I dress a strange dish for his honour.

[exit Wife.

Ans. Call you this courting? 'life! not one word near it.

There was no syllable but was twelve score off.

My faith, hot temptation! woman's chastity,

In such a conflict, had great need of one

To keep the bridge; 'twas dangerous for the time.
Why what fantastic faiths are in these days

Made without substance; whom should a man trust
In matters about love?

Vot. Mass! here he comes too.

Enter ANSELMUS.

Ans. How now, Votarius! what's the news for us?
Vot. You set me to a task, sir, that will find
Ten ages work enough, and then unfinish'd.
Bring sin before her ! why it stands more quaking,
Than if a judge should frown on't; three such fits
Would shake it into goodness, and quite beggar
The under kingdom.-Not the art of man,
Woman, or Devil-

Ans. O, peace, man! pr'ythee peace !-
Vot. Can make her fit for lust.

Ans. Yet, again, sir?

Where lives that mistress of thine, Votarius,

That taught thee to dissemble, I'd fain learn;

She makes good scholars.

Vot. How, my lord!

Ans. Thou art the son of falsehood, pr'ythee leave me.

How truly constant, charitable, and helpful

Is woman unto woman in affairs

That touch affection and the peace of spirit!
But man to man how crooked and unkind!
I thank my jealousy I heard thee all,
For I heard nothing: now thou'rt sure I did.

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Vot. Now, by this light then, wipe but off this score,

Since you're so bent, and if I ever run

In debt again to falsehood and dissemblance,

For want of better means, tear the remembrance of me
From your best thoughts.

Ans. For thy vows' sake, I pardon thee.
Thy oath is now sufficient watch itself
Over thy actions; I discharge my jealousy.
I've no more use for't now; to give thee way
I'll have an absence made purposely for thee,
And presently take horse. I'll leave behind me
An opportunity, that shall fear no starting,
Let but thy pains deserve it.

Vot. I am bound to't.

Ans. For a small time farewell, then! hark thee!

Vot. O good sir!

[Anselmus whispers to him; and exit.

It will do wond'rous well;-What a wild seed
Suspicion sows in him, and takes small ground for't!
How happy were this lord if he would leave

To tempt his fate, and be resolved he were so !
He would be but too rich :-

Man has some enemy still that keeps him back
In all his fortunes, and his mind is his,
And that's a mighty adversary: I had rather
Have twenty kings my enemies than that part,
For let me be at war with earth and hell,

So that be friends with me.-I've sworn to make
A trial of her faith, I must put on

A brazen face and do't;

Enter WIFE.

Mine own will shame me.

Wife. This is most strange of all! how one distraction

Seconds another!

Vot. What's the news, sweet madam?

Wife. He's took his horse, but left his leave untaken,

What should I think on't, sir? did ever lord

Depart so rudely from his lady's presence!
Vot. Did he forget your lip?
Wife. He forgot all

That nobleness remembers.

Vot. I'm asham'd of him.

Let me help, madam, to repair his manners,

And mend that unkind fault.

Wife. Sir! pray forbear!

You forget worse than he.

Vot. So virtue save me,

I have enough already.

Wife. 'Tis himself

[aside.

Must make amends, good sir, for his own faults.

Vot. I would he'd do't then, and ne'er trouble me in't;

But, madam, you perceive he takes the course
To be far off from that, he's rode from home;
But, his unkindness stays, and keeps with you;
Let who will please his wife, he rides his horse,
That's all the care he takes. I pity you, madam,
You've an unpleasing lord; would 'twere not so,
I should rejoice with you.

с

[aside.

You're young, the very spring's upon you now,

The roses on your cheeks are but new blown.

Take you together, you're a pleasant garden,
Where all the sweetness of man's comfort breathes.

But what is it to be a work of beauty,

And want the part that should delight in you:
You still retain your goodness in yourself,

But then you lose your glory, which is all.

And is't not pity you should want your grace?
Look you like one whose lord should walk in groves
About the peace of midnight? Alas! Madam,
'Tis to me wond'rous how you should spare the day
From amorous clips, much less the general season
When all the world's a gamester.

That face deserves a friend of heart and spirit,
Discourse and motion, indeed such a one

That should observe you, madam, without ceasing,
And not a weary lord.

Wife. Sure I was married, sir,

In a dear year of love; when scarcity

And famine of affection vex'd poor ladies,

Which makes my heart so needy, it ne'er knew
Plenty of comfort yet.

Vot. Why, that's your folly,

To keep your mind so miserably, madam :

Change into better times, I'll lead you to 'em.
What bounty shall your friend expect for this?
O you that can be hard to your own heart,

How would you use your friends? if I thought kindly,