Don. In most sincerity, most sincerely.
Zoy. Nay, ’tis a pure fool! I can tell ye he was bred up in Germany. 330
Nym. But the laughter rises, that he vows he lay not in your bed this four year, with such exquisite protestations.
Zoy. That’s most full truth. He hath most unjustly severed his sheets ever since the old Duke Pietro (Heaven rest his soul!)——
Don. Fie! You may not pray for the dead; ’tis indifferent to them what you say.
Nym. Well said, fool.
Zoy. Ever since the old Duke Pietro, the great devil of hell torture his soul—— 341
Don. O, lady! yet charity!
Zoy. Why? ’tis indifferent to them what you say, fool. But does my lord ravel out? does he fret? For pity of an afflicted lady, load him soundly; let him not go[186] clear from vexation: he has the most dishonourably, with the most sinful, most vicious obstinacy, persevered to wrong me, that, were I not of a male constitution, ’twere
impossible for me to survive it; but in madness’ name, let him on. I ha’ not the weak sense[187] of some of your soft-eyed whimpering ladies, who, if they were used like me, would gall their fingers with wringing their hands, look like bleeding Lucreces, and shed salt water enough to powder all the beef in the duke’s larder. No, I am resolute Donna Zoya. Ha! that wives were of my metal! I would make these ridiculously jealous fools howl like a starved dog before he got a bit. I was created to be the affliction of such an unsanctified member, and will boil him in his own syrup. 359