Ric. Am I not mad? Can this weak temper'd head,
That will be mad with drink, endure the wrong
That I have done a Virgin, and my Love?
Be mad, for so thou ought'st, or I will beate
The walls and trees, down with thee, and will let
Either thy memory out, or madness in;
But sure I never lov'd fair Viola,
I never lov'd my Father, nor my Mother,
Or any thing but drink; had I had love;
Nay, had I known so much charity,
As would have sav'd an Infant from the fire,
I had been naked, raving in the street;
With halfe a face, gashing my self with knives,
Two houres ere this time.
Enter Pedro, Silvio, Uberto.
Rich. Good morrow Gentlemen, shall we go drink agen?
I have my wits.
Ped. So have I, but they are unsetled ones, would I had some porrige.
Rich. The Tavern boy was here this morning with me
And told me, that there was a Gentlewoman,
Which he took for a Whore, that hung on me:
For whom we quarrel'd, and I know not what.
Ped. I faith nor I.
Ube. I have a glimmering of some such thing.
Rich. Was it you, Silvio,
That made me drink so much? 'twas you or Pedro.
Ped. I know not who.