1 Gentlew. Down o' your marrow-bones.
Lop. Even sorry from my heart: forgive me sweet wife,
Here I confess most freely I have wrong'd ye,
As freely here I beg a pardon of ye,
From this hour no debate, no cross suspition—
Isab. To shew ye Sir I understand a wives part,
Thus I assure my love, and seal your pardon.
2 Gentlew. 'Tis well done, now to bed, and there confirm it.
Gent. And so good night.
Bar. Aware relapses, Lopez. [Exeunt.
Lop. Now Isabella tell me truth, and suddainly,
And do not juggle with me, nor dissemble,
For as I have a life ye dye then: I am not mad,
Nor does the Devil work upon my weakness,
Tell me the trick of this, and tell me freely.
Isab. Will then that satisfie ye?
Lop. If ye deal ingeniously.
Isab. I'll tell ye all; and tell ye true and freely.
Bartello was the end of all this jealousie,
His often visitations brought by you, first
Bred all these fits, and these suspitions:
I knew your false key, and accordingly
I fram'd my plot, to have you take him finely,
Too poor a pennance for the wrong his wife bears,
His worthy virtuous wife: I felt it sensibly
When ye took off the string, and was much pleas'd in't,
Because I wish'd his importunate dotage paid well,
And had you staid two minutes more, ye had had him.