SCENE II.
Warehouse, Dorcas.
Ware. My dearest Dorcas, welcome. Here you see
The house you must be mistress of, which with
This kiss I do confirm unto you.
Dor. Forbear, sir.
Ware. How! wife, refuse to kiss me?
Dor. Yes, unless
A sweeter air came from you; y' have turned my stomach.
I wonder you can be so rude to ask me,
Knowing your lungs are perish'd.
Ware. This is rare,
That I should live to this great age, and never
Till now know I was rotten!
Dor. I shall never
Endure your conversation: I hope you have
Contriv'd two beds, two chambers, and two tables.
It is an article, that I should live
Retir'd—that is, apart.
Ware. But pray you, wife, are you in earnest?
Dor. D'you think I'll jest with age?
Ware. Will you not lie with me, then?
Dor. Did ever man
Of your hairs ask such questions? I do blush
At your unreasonableness.
Ware. Nay, then——
Dor. Is't fit I should be buried?
Ware. I reach you not.
Dor. Why, to lie with you were a direct emblem
Of going to my grave.
War. I understand you.
Dor. I'll have your picture set in my weddingring
For a Death's head.
Ware. I do conceive you.
Dor. I'd
Rather lie with an ancient tomb, or embrace
An ancestor than you. D'you think I'll come
Between your winding-sheets? For what? To hear you
Depart all night, and fetch your last groan; and
I' th' morning find a deluge on the floor;
Your entrails floating, and half my husband spit
Upon the arras.
Ware. I am married——
Dor. Then,
For your abilities, should twelve good women
Sit on these reverend locks, and on your heat
And natural appetite, they would just find you
As youthful as a coffin, and as hot
As the sultry winter that froze o'er the Thames—
They say the hard time did begin from you.
Ware. Good, I am made the curse of watermen.
Dor. Your humours come frost from you, and your nose
Hath icicles in June.
Ware. Assist me, patience!
Why, hear you, mistress—you that have a fever
And dog-days in your blood—if you knew this,
Why did you marry me?
Dor. Ha, ha, ha!
Ware. She laughs.
Dor. That your experienc'd age,[258] that hath felt springs
And falls this forty years, should be so dull
To think I have not them that shall supply
Your cold defects!
Ware. You have your servants, then,
And I am fork'd? hum!
Dor. Do you think
A woman young, high in her blood——
Ware. And hot
As goats or marmosites——
Dor. Apt to take flame at
Every temptation——
Ware. And to kindle at
The picture of a man——
Dor. Would wed dust, ashes,
A monument, unless she were——
Ware. Crack'd, tried, and broken up?
Dor. Right, sir, or lack'd a cloak?
Ware. Mischief and hell! and was there none to make
Your cloak but I?
Dor. Not so well-lin'd!
Ware. O, you
Stay'd for a wealthy cuckold; your tame beast
Must have his gilded horns?
Dor. Yes, sir; besides,
Your age being impotent, you would, I knew,
In conscience wink at my stol'n helps, if I
Took comfort from abroad.
Ware. Yes, yes; yes, yes!
You shall be comforted: I will maintain
A stallion for you.
Dor. I will have friends come to me.
So you'll conceal——
Ware. Alas! I'll be your pander;
Deliver letters for you, and keep the door.
Dor. I'll have a woman shall do that.
Ware. O impudence!
Unheard-of impudence!
Dor. Then, sir, I'll look
Your coffers shall maintain me at my rate.
Ware. How's that?
Dor. Why, like a lady; for I do mean
To have you knighted.
Ware. I shall rise to honour.
Dor. D'you think I'll have your factor move before me,
Like a device stirr'd by a wire, or like
Some grave clock wound up to a regular pace?
Ware. No, you shall have your usher, dame, to stalk
Before you, like a buskin'd prologue,[259] in
A stately, high, majestic motion, bare.
Dor. I do expect it: yes, sir, and my coach,
Six horses and postillion; four are fit
For them that have a charge of children: you
And I shall never have any.
Ware. If we have,
All Middlesex is father.
Dor. Then I'll have
My footman to run by me when I visit,
Or take the air sometimes in Hyde Park.
Ware. You,
Besides being chaste, are good at races too:
You can be a jockey for a need?
Dor. Y' are pleasant, sir.
Ware. Why, hark you, hark you, mistress; you told me
You lov'd retirement, loved not visits, and bargain'd
I should not carry you abroad.
Dor. You! no.
Is't fit I should be seen at court with you?
Such an odd sight as you would make the ladies
Have melancholy thoughts.
Ware. You bound me, too,
I should not go to sea: you lov'd me so,
You could not be without me.
Dor. Not if you stay'd
Above a year; for should I, in a long voyage,
Prove fruitful, I should want a father to
The infant.
Ware. Most politicly kind,
And, like a whore, perfect i' th' mystery!
It is beyond my sufferance.
Dor. Pray, sir, vex [not]:
I'll in and see your jewels, and make choice
Of some for every day; and some to wear
At masques. [Exit.
Ware. 'Tis very good. Two days
Of this I shall grow mad; or, to redeem
Myself, commit some outrage. O—O—O!