I do not doubt, upon the least suspicion,
Unmercifully jealous.

Lod. No, I should not;

For I believe those mad that seek vexations:
A wife, tho' she be honest, is a trouble.
Had I a wife as fair as Helen was,

That drew so many cuckolds to her cause,
These eyes should see another in my saddle
Ere I believe my beast would carry double.
Piso. So should not I, by'r Lady! and I
think

My patience (by your leave) as good as yours. Report would stir me mainly, I am sure on't. Lod. Report? you are unwise; report is nothing;

For if there were a truth in what men talk, (I mean of this kind) this part of the world I'm sure would be no more call'd ChristenPiso. What then?

[doin. Lod. Why, Cuckoldom; for we should lose Our old faiths clean, and hold their new opinions: [marry

If talk could make me sweat, before I would I'd tie a surer knot, and hang myself. I tell thee, there was never woman yet, (Nor never hope there shall be) tho' a saint, But she has been a subject to men's tongues, And in the worst sense: And that desperate [rumours',

husband,

That dares give up his peace, and follow (Which he shall find too busy, if he seek 'em) Beside the forcing of himself an ass,

He dies in chains, eating himself with anger. Piso. Having these antidotes against opinion,

I would marry any one; an arrant whore. Lod. Thou dost not feel the nature of this physic;

[Letia?

Which I prescribe not to beget diseases, But, where they are, to stop them. Piso. I conceive you: What think'st thou, thy way, of the widow Lod. 'Faith, thou hast found out one, I must confess, [woman, Would stagger my best patience: From that As I would bless myself from plagues and [quicksands,

surfeits, From n.en of war at sea, from storms and From hearing treason and concealing it, From daring of a madınan, or a drunkard, From heresy, ill wine, and stumbling posthorse, [night,

So would I pray each morning, and each
(And if I said each hour, I should not lie)
To be deliver'd of all these in one,
The woman thou hast named.

Piso. Thou hast set her in a pretty Litany.

Enter Julio, Angelo, and Father.

Ang. 'Pray take my counsel.

Jul. When I am myself,

I'll hear you any way; love me tho' thus,

Clora. Do not dissemble, Frank; mine eyes are quicker [faith Than such observers, that do ground their Upon one smile or tear: You are much alter'd,

And are as empty of those excellencies

That were companions to you, (I mean mirth, And free disposure of your blood and spirit) As you were born a mourner.

Frank. How, I prithee?

For I perceive no such change in myself.

Clora. Come, come, this is not wise, nor
provident,

To halt before a cripple. If you love,
Be liberal to your friend, and let her know it:
I see the way you run, and know how tedious
Twill prove without a true companion.

Frank. Sure thou wouldst have me love.

Clora. Yes, marry would I ; I should not please you else.

Frank. And who, for God's sake? For I assure myself, I know not yet: And 'prithee, Clora, since thou'lt have it so That I must love, and do I know not what, Let him be held a pretty handsome fellow, And young; and if he be a little valiant, Twill be the better; and a little wise, And, 'faith, a little honest. [craft. Clora, Well, I'll sound you yet, for all your Frank. Heigh-ho! I'll love no more. Clora. Than one; and him You shall love, Frank.

Frank. Which him? Thou art so wise, People will take thee shortly for a witch. But, 'prithee tell me, Clora, if I were

So mad as thou wouldst make me, what kind

6

Sympson.

6

Rig me out, that's the short on't. Out upon't!
What young thing of my years would endure
To have her husband in another country,
Within a month after she is married,
Chopping for rotten raisins, and lie pining
At home, under the mercy of his foreman?
No;

Tho' they be wealthy, and indifferent wise,
I do not see that I am bound to love 'em.
Clora. I see you are hard to please; yet I
will please you.
[sider'd
Frank. 'Faith, not so hard neither, if con-
What woman may deserve as she is worthy.
But why do we bestow our time so idly?
'Prithee, let's entertain some other talk;
This is as sickly to me as faint weather.
Clora. Now I believe I shall content you,
What think you of a courtier? [Frank:

Frank. 'Faith, so ill,

While you continue cold and frosty to him, Hangs fast, and may be sound3; but when you fling

Too full a heat of your affections

Upon his root, and make him ripe too soon,
You'll find him rotten in the handling:
His oaths and affections are all one
With his apparel, things to set him off;
He has as many mistresses as faiths,
And all Apocrypha +; his true belief
Is only in a private surgeon:
And, for my single self, I'd sooner venture
A new conversion of the Indies 5,
Than to make courtiers able men, or honest.

Clora. I do believe you love no courtier;
And, by my troth, to guess you into love
With any can think of, is beyond
Either your will, or my imagination:
And yet I'm sure you're caught, and I will
know him.

There's none left now worthy the thinking of,
Unless it be a soldier; and, I'm sure,
I would ever bless myself from such a fellow.
Frank. Why, 'prithee?

Clora. Out upon 'em, firelocks! [scarlet,
They're nothing in the world but buff and
Tough unhewn pieces, to hack swords upon;
I had as lieve be courted by a cannon,
As one of those.

Franh. Thou art too malicious; Upon my faith, methinks they're worthy men. Clora. Say you so? I'll pull you on a little

further.[fession What worth can be in those men, whose proIs nothing in the world but drink and damn me?

Out of whose violence they are possess'd With legions of unwholesome whores and quarrels?

I am of that opinion, and will die in't,
There is no understanding, nor can be,
In a sous'd soldier.

Frank. Now, 'tis ignorance,

I easily perceive, that thus provokes thee, And not the love of truth. I'll lay my life, If God had made thee man, th' hadst been a coward.

Clora. If to be valiant, be to be a soldier, I'll tell you true, I had rather be a coward; I am sure with less sin.

A reprobate, out of the state of honour.
By all good things, thou hast flung aspersions
So like a fool (for I am angry with thee)
Upon a sort of men, that, let me tell thee,
Thy mother's mother would have been a saint
Had she conceiv'd a soldier! They are people
(I may commend 'em, while I speak but truth)
Of all the old world, only left to keep
Man as he was, valiant and virtuous.
They are the model of those men, whose ho-

nours

We heave our hands at when we hear recited. Cloru. They are,

And I have all I sought for: 'Tis a soldier
You love (hide it no longer); you've betray'd
yourself!
[tions,
Come, I have found your way of commenda-
And what I said was but to pull it from you,
Frank. Twas pretty! Are you grown so
cunning, Clora?

I grant I love a soldier; but what soldier
Will be a new task to you. But all this,
I do imagine, was but laid to draw me
Out of my melancholy.

Clora. I will have the man,
Ere I forsake you.

Frank. I must to my chamber.
Clora. May not I go along?

5

I'd sooner venture

Enter Lelia and her Waiting-Woman. Lelia. How now? who was that you stay'd to speak withal?

Woman. The old man, forsooth.
Lelia. What old man?

Woman. The poor old man,

[father.

That uses to come hither; he that you call
Lelia. Have you dispatch'd him?
Woman. No; he would fain speak with you.
Lelia. Wilt thou ne'er learn more manners,
than to draw in

Such needy rascals to disquiet me?
Go, answer him, I will not be at leisure.
Woman. He will needs speak with you;
and, good old man!

He weeps so, that, by my troth, I have not
The heart to deny him. 'Pray let him speak
Lelia. Lord!
[with you.
How tender-stomach'd you are grown of late!
You are not in love with him, are you? If
you be,
[pounds

Strike up the match; you shall have three And a pair of blankets! Will you go answer him?

Woman. 'Pray let him speak with

not away else.

you; he'll

Lelia. Well, let him in then, if there be

no remedy:

I thank God, I am able to abuse him ;

[Exit Woman. I shall ne'er come clear else of him.

Re-enter Woman, with Father.

Now, sir; what is your business? 'Pray be short;

For I have other matters, of more moment,
To call me from you.
[daughter,
Father. If you but look upon me like a
And keep that love about yon that makes
good
[ness,

A father's hope, you'll quickly find my busi-
And what I would say to you, and, before
I ask, will be a giver: Say that sleep, [you,
(I mean that love) or be but numb'd within
The nature of my want is such a searcher,
And of so mighty power, that, where he finds
This dead forgetfulness, it works so strongly,
That if the least heat of a child's affection
Remain unperish'd, like another nature,
It makes all new again! 'Pray do not scorn me,
Nor seem to make yourself a greater business
Than my relieving.

Lelia. If you were not old,

I should laugh at you! What a vengeance ails you,

To be so childish to imagine me

A founder of old fellows?-Make hin drink, wench;

And if there be any cold meat in the buttery, Give him some broken bread, and that, and rid him. [pense

Father. Is this a child's love? or a recom-
Fit for a father's care? Oh, Lelia,
Had I been thus unkind,thou hadst not been;
Or, like me, miserable! But 'tis impossible
Nature should die so utterly within thee,
And lose her promises: Thou art one of
those

She set her stamp more excellently on,
Than common people, as foretelling thee
A general example of her goodness.
Or, say she could lie, yet Religion
(For love to parents is religious)
Would lead thee right again: Look well upon
I am the root that gave thee nourishment,
And made thee spring fair; do not let me pe-
Now I am old and sapless.
[rish,

Lelia. As I live,

[me;

I like you far worse now you grow thus holy!
I grant you are my father; am I therefore
Bound to consume myself, and be a beggar
Still in relieving you? I do not feel ·
Any such mad compassion yet within me.
Father. I gave up all my state, to make

yours thus!

Lelia. "Twas as you ought to do; and now you cry for't,

As children do for babies, back again.

Futher. How wouldst thou have me live?
Lelia I would not have you;

Nor know no reason fathers should desire
To live, and be a trouble, when their chil-
Are able to inherit; let them die; [dren?
'Tis fit, and look'd for, that they should do so.
Father. Is this your comfort?
Lelia. All that I feel yet.
Father. I will not curse thee!
Lelia. If you do, I care not.

Father. 'Pray you give me leave to weep.
Letia. Why, pray take leave,
If it be for your ease.

Father. Thy mother died

(Sweet peace be with her!) in a happy time. Lelia. She did, sir, as she ought to do;

'would you

[you

Would take the pains to follow! What should
Or any old man do, wearing away
In this world with diseases, and desire
Only to live to make their children scourge-

sticks,

[marble And hoard up mill-money? Methinks, a

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