Brom. Tell her what, traitor? that you are going away without seeing her?
Merc. That I am doing my duty, and following my master.
Brom. 'Umph!—so brisk, too! your master did his duty to my lady before he parted: He could leave his army in the lurch, and come galloping home at midnight to have a lick at the honey-pot; and steal to-bed as quietly as any mouse, I warrant you. My master knew what belonged to a married life; but you, sirrah—you trencher-carrying rascal—you worse than dunghill-cock; that stood clapping your wings, and crowing without doors, when you should have been at roost, you villain—
Merc. Hold your peace, dame Partlet, and leave your cackling; my master charged me to stand centry without doors.
Brom. My master! I dare swear thou beliest him; my master is more a gentleman than to lay such an unreasonable command upon a poor distressed married couple, and after such an absence too. No, there is no comparison between my master and thee, thou sneaksby.
Merc. No more than there is betwixt my lady and you, Bromia. You and I have had our time in a civil way, spouse, and much good love has been betwixt us; but we have been married fifteen years, I take it; and that hoighty toighty business ought, in conscience, to be over.
Brom. Marry come up, my saucy companion! I am neither old nor ugly enough to have that said to me.
Merc. But will you hear reason, Bromia? my lord and my lady are yet in a manner bride and bridegroom; they are in honey-moon still: do but think, in decency, what a jest it would be to the family, to see two venerable old married people lying snug in a bed together, and sighing out fine tender things to one another!
Brom. How now, traitor, darest thou maintain that I am past the age of having fine things said to me?
Merc. Not so, my dear; but certainly I am past the age of saying them.