Nay then, thought I, 'tis time to let her go,
I eas'd my knee, and from her cast a look.
She leaves me wond'ring at these strange affairs,
And like the wind she trips me up the stairs.
I left the room below, and up I went,
Finding her thrown upon her wanton bed:
I ask'd the cause of her sad discontent;
Further she lies, and, making room, she said,
Now, sweeting, kiss me, having time and place;
So clings me to her with a sweet embrace.

Ans. Is't possible? I had not thought till now
That women could dissemble. Master Fuller,
Here dwells the sacred mistress of my heart;
Before her door I'll frame a friv❜lous walk,
And, spying her, with her devise some talk.

Enter YOUNG MASTER ARTHUR, MISTRESS ARTHUR, OLD
MASTER ARTHUR, OLD MASTER LUSAM, YOUNG MASTER
LUSAM, and PIPKIN.

Ful. What stir is this? let's step but out the way,

And hear the utmost what these people say.

O. Art. Thou art a knave, although thou be my son.

Have I with care and trouble brought thee up,

To be a staff and comfort to my age,

A pillar to support me, and a crutch

To lean on, in my second infancy,

And dost thou use me thus? Thou art a knave.

O. Lus. A knave, aye, marry, and an 'arrant knave,

And, sirrah, by old Master Arthur's leave,

Though I be weak and old, I'll prove thee one.

Y. Art. Sir, though it be my father's pleasure thus To wrong me with the scorned name of knave, I will not have you so familiar,

Nor so presume upon my patience.

O. Lus. Speak, Master Arthur, is he not a knave? O. Art. I say he is a knave.

0. Lus. Then so say I.

Y. Art. My father may command my patience,
But you, sir, that are but my father-in-law,·
Shall not so mock my reputation.

Sir, you shall find I am an honest man.

O. Lus. An honest man!

Y. Art. Aye, sir, so I say.

O. Lus. Nay, if you say so, I'll not be against it : But, sir, you might have us'd my daughter better, Than to have beat her, spurn'd her, rail'd at her Before our faces.

O. Art. Aye, therein, son Arthur,

Thou shew'dst thyself no better than a knave.
O. Lus. Aye, marry, did he, I will stand to it :
To use my honest daughter in such sort,
He shew'd himself no better than a knave.

Y. Art. I say, again, I am an honest man;

He wrongs me that shall say the contrary.

O. Lus. I grant, sir, that you are an honest man, Nor will I say unto the contrary:

But, wherefore do you use my daughter thus?
Can you accuse her of unchastity,

Of loose demeanour, disobedience, or disloyalty?
Speak, what canst thou object against my daughter?

с

0. Art. Accuse her! here she stands; spit in her face If she be guilty, in the least, of these.

Mis. Art. O, father, be more patient; if you wrong My honest husband, all the blame be mine,

Because

you do it only for my sake.

I am his handmaid; since it is his pleasure
To use me thus, I am content therewith,
And bear his checks and crosses patiently.

Y. Art. If, in mine own house, I can have no peace,
I'll seek it elsewhere, and frequent it less.
Father, I'm now past one and twenty years;
I'm past my father's pamp'ring, I suck not,
Nor am I dandled on my mother's knee:
Then, if you were my father twenty times,
You shall not chuse, but let me be myself.
Do I come home so seldom, and that seldom
Am I thus baited? Wife, remember this!
Father, farewell! and, father-in-law, adieu !
Your son had rather fast, than feast with you.

[exit.

O. Art. Well, go to, wild oats! spendthrift! prodigal !

I'll cross thy name quite from my reck'ning book :
For these accounts, 'faith, it shall scathe thee somewhat,
I will not say what somewhat it shall be.

O. Lus. And it shall scathe him somewhat of my purse:
And, daughter, I will take thee home again,
Since thus he hates thy fellowship;

Be such an eye-sore to his sight no more!

I tell thee, thou no more shalt trouble him.

Mis. Art. Will you divorce whom God hath tied toge

ther?

Or break that knot, the sacred hand of heaven
Made fast betwixt us? Have you never read
What a great curse was laid upon his head
That breaks the holy band of marriage,
Divorcing husbands from their chosen wives?
Father, I will not leave my Arthur so;

Not all my friends can make me prove his foe.
O. Art. I could say somewhat in my son's reproof.
O. Lus. 'Faith, so could I.

O. Art. But, 'till I meet him, I will let it pass.

O. Lus. 'Faith, so will I.

O. Art. Daughter, farewell! with weeping eyes I part; Witness these tears, thy grief sits near my heart.

O. Lus. Weeps Master Arthur? nay, then, let me cry; His cheeks shall not be wet, and mine be dry.

Mis. Art. Fathers, farewell! spend not a tear for me, But, for my husband's sake, let these woes be. For when I weep, 'tis not for my own care,

But fear, lest folly bring him to despair.

[exeunt O. Art. and O. Lus.

Y. Lus. Sweet saint! continue still this patience,

For time will bring him to true penitence.
Mirror of virtue! thanks for my good cheer,
A thousand thanks.

Mis. Art. It is so much too dear;

But you are welcome for my husband's sake ;

His guests shall have best welcome I can make.

Y. Lus. Than marriage, nothing in the world more com

mon;

Nothing more rare than such a virtuous woman.

Mis. Art. My husband in this humour, well I know,

[exit.

Plays but the unthrift; therefore, it behoves me
To be the better housewife here at home;
To save and get, whilst he doth laugh and spend :
Though for himself he riots it at large,
My needle shall defray my household's charge.

[she sits down to work in front of the house.
Ful. Now, Master Anselm, to her, step not back;
Bustle yourself, see where she sits at work ́; ́
Be not afraid, man; she's but a woman,
And women the most cowards seldom fear:
Think but upon my former principles,
And, twenty pound to a dream, you speed.
Ans. Aye, say you so?

Ful. Beware of blushing, sirrah,
Of fear and too much eloquence!
Rail on her husband, his misusing her,

And make that serve thee as an argument,
That she may sooner yield to do him wrong.
Were it my case, my love and I to plead,

I hav't at fingers' ends who could miss the clout

Having so fair a white, such steady aim;

This is the upshot, now bid for the game. [Anselm advances.

Ans. Fair mistress, God save you!

Ful. What a circumstance doth he begin with; what an

ass is he

To tell her at the first that she was fair;

The only means to make her to be coy!
He should have rather told her she was foul,

And brought her out of love quite with herself;
And, being so, she would the less have car'd
Upon whose secrets she had laid her love.