Wife. I am glad I found you Sir, there, take your Letter, and keep it till you have another friend to wrong, 'tis too malicious false to make me sin, you have provoked me to be that I love not, a talker, and you shall hear me.
Why should you dare to imagine me
So light a huswife, that from four hours knowledge
You might presume to offer to my credit
This rude and ruffian tryal, I am sure
I never courted you, nor gave you tokens,
That might concern assurance, you are a fool.
Mer. I cannot blame you now, I see this letter,
Though you be angry, yet with me you must not,
Unless you'l make me guilty of a wrong,
My worst affections hate——
Wife. Did not you send it?
Mer. No, upon my faith, which is more, I understand it not; the hand is as far from my knowledge, as the malice.
Wife. This is strange.
Mer. It is so, and had been stranger, and indeed more hateful,
Had I, that have receiv'd such courtesies, and owe so many
Thanks, done this base office.
Wife. Your name is at it.
Mer. Yes, but not my nature, and I shall hate my name worse than the manner, for this base broking; you are wise and vertuous, remove this fault from me; for on the love I bear to truth and goodness, this Letter dare not name me for the author.
Wife. Now I perceive my husbands knavery, [if [my] man can but find where he has been, I will goe with this Gentleman whatsoever comes on't: and as I mean to carry it, both he and all the World shall think it fit, and thank me for it.
Mer. I must confess I loved you, at first, however this made me leave your house unmannerly, that might provoke me to do something ill, both to your honor and my faith, and not to write this Letter, which I hold so truly wicked, that I will not think on't.