Men. Err! ’tis too mild a name: but err and err,
Run giddy with suspect, ’fore through me thou know
That which most creatures, save thyself, do know:
Nay, since my service hath so loath’d reject,
’Fore I’ll reveal, shalt find them clipt together.
Pietro. Mendoza, thou knowest I am a most plain-breasted man.
Men. The fitter to make a cornuto:[395] would your brows were most plain too! 140
Pietro. Tell me: indeed, I heard thee rail—
Men. At women, true: why, what cold fleam[396] could choose,
Knowing a lord so honest, virtuous,
So boundless loving, bounteous, fair-shap’d, sweet,
To be contemn’d, abus’d, defam’d, made cuckold?
Heart! I hate all women for’t: sweet sheets, wax lights, antic bedposts, cambric smocks, villainous curtains, arras pictures, oiled hinges, and all the[397] tongue-tied lascivious witnesses of great creatures’ wantonness,—what salvation can you expect? 150
Pietro. Wilt thou tell me?
Men. Why, you may find it yourself; observe, observe.
Pietro. I ha’ not the patience: wilt thou deserve me, tell, give it.
Men. Take’t: why, Ferneze is the man, Ferneze: I’ll prove’t; this night you shall take him in your sheets: will’t serve?
Pietro. It will; my bosom’s in some peace: till night—