Brom. Thou deservest not to be yoked with a woman of honour, as I am, thou perjured villain.
Merc. Ay, you are too much a woman of honour, to my sorrow; many a poor husband would be glad to compound for less honour in his wife, and more quiet. Pr'ythee, be but honest and continent in thy tongue, and do thy worst with every thing else about thee.
Brom. Thou wouldst have a woman of the town, wouldst thou! to be always speaking my husband fair, to make him digest his cuckoldom more easily! wouldst thou be a wittol, with a vengeance to thee? I am resolved I'll scour thy hide for that word. [Holds up her ladle at him.
Merc. Thou wilt not strike thy lord and husband, wilt thou?
Brom. Since thou wilt none of the meat, 'tis but justice to give thee the bastings of the ladle. [She courses him about.
Merc. [Running about.] Was ever poor deity so hen-pecked as I am! nay, then 'tis time to charm her asleep with my enchanted rod, before I am disgraced or ravished. [Plucks out his Caduceus, and strikes her upon the shoulder with it.
Brom. What, art thou rebelling against thy anointed wife! I'll make thee—how now—What, has the rogue bewitched me! I grow dull and stupid on the sudden—I can neither stir hand nor foot—I am just like him—I have lost the use of all my—members—[Yawning.]—I can't so much as wag my tongue—neither, and that's the last liv—ing part about a—woman— [Falls down.
Mercury alone.
Lord, what have I suffered for being but a counterfeit married man one day! If ever I come to this house as a husband again—then—and yet that then was a lie too; for, while I am in love with this young gipsy, Phædra, I must return. But lie thou there, thou type of Juno; thou that wantest nothing of her tongue, but the immortality. If Jupiter ever let thee set foot in heaven, Juno will have a rattling second of thee; and there will never be a fair day in heaven or earth after it:
For two such tongues will break the poles asunder;