Mrs. Fi. And what ſaies he?
Pvg. Sayes he? That which my ſelf would ſay to you, if I durſt. That you are proude, ſweet Miſtreſſe? and with-all, A little ignorant, to entertaine The good that’s proffer’d; and (by your beauties leaue) 75 Not all ſo wiſe, as ſome true politique wife Would be: who hauing match’d with ſuch a Nupſon (I ſpeake it with my Maſters peace) whoſe face Hath left t’accuſe him, now, for’t doth confeſſe him, What you can make him; will yet (out of ſcruple, 80 And a ſpic’d conſcience) defraud the poore Gentleman, At leaſt delay him in the thing he longs for, And makes it hs whole ſtudy, how to compaſſe, Onely a title. Could but he write Cuckold, He had his ends. For, looke you—
Mrs. Fi. This can be 85 None but my husbands wit.
Pvg. My pretious Mrs.
M. Fi. It creaks his Ingine: The groome neuer durſt Be, elſe, so ſaucy—
Pvg. If it were not clearely, His worſhipfull ambition; and the top of it; The very forked top too: why ſhould hee 90 Keepe you, thus mur’d vp in a back-roome, Miſtreſſe, Allow you ne’r a caſement to the ſtreete, Feare of engendering by the eyes, with gallants, Forbid you paper, pen and inke, like Rats-bane. Search your halfe pint of muſcatell, leſt a letter 95 Be ſuncke i’ the pot: and hold your new-laid egge Againſt the fire, leſt any charme be writ there? Will you make benefit of truth, deare Miſtreſſe, If I doe tell it you: I do’t not often? I am ſet ouer you, imploy’d, indeed, 100 To watch your ſteps, your lookes, your very breathings, And to report them to him. Now, if you Will be a true, right, delicate ſweete Miſtreſſe, Why, wee will make a Cokes of this Wiſe Maſter, We will, my Miſtreſſe, an abſolute fine Cokes, 105 And mock, to ayre, all the deepe diligences Of ſuch a ſolemne, and effectuall Aſſe, An Aſſe to ſo good purpoſe, as wee’ll vſe him. I will contriue it ſo, that you ſhall goe To Playes, to Maſques, to Meetings, and to Feaſts. 110 For, why is all this Rigging, and fine Tackle, Miſtris, If you neat handſome veſſells, of good ſayle, Put not forth euer, and anon, with your nets Abroad into the world. It is your fiſhing. [118] There, you ſhal chooſe your friends, your ſeruants, Lady, Your ſquires of honour; I’le conuey your letters, 116 Fetch anſwers, doe you all the offices, That can belong to your bloud, and beauty. And, For the variety, at my times, although I am not in due ſymmetrie, the man 120 Of that proportion; or in rule Of phyſicke, of the iuſt complexion: Or of that truth of Picardill, in clothes, To boaſt a ſoueraignty o’re Ladies: yet I know, to do my turnes, ſweet Miſtreſſe. Come, kiſſe—
Mrs. Fi. How now!
Pvg. Deare delicate Miſt. I am your ſlaue, 126 Your little worme, that loues you: your fine Monkey; Your Dogge, your Iacke, your Pug, that longs to be Stil’d, o’ your pleaſures.
Mrs. Fit. Heare you all this? Sir, Pray you, Come from your ſtanding, doe, a little, ſpare 130 Shee thinkes her huſband watches. Your ſelfe, Sir, from your watch, t’applaud your Squire, That ſo well followes your inſtructions!