Nym. But troth, your husband has a good face.
Zoy. Faith, good enough face for a husband. Come, gallants, I’ll dance to mine own whistle: I am as light now as——Ah! [she sings and dances]. A kiss to you, to my sweet free servants. Dream on me, and adieu.
[Exit Zoya.
Zuccone discovers himself.
Zuc. I shall lose my wits. 423
Herc. Be comforted, dear Don, you ha’ none to leese.
Zuc. My wife is grown like a Dutch crest, always rampant, rampant: ’fore I will endure this affliction, I will live by raking cockles out of kennels; nay, I will run my country,—forsake my religion,—go weave fustians,—or roll the wheel-barrow at Rotterdam.
Herc. I would be divorced, despite her friends, or the oath of her chamber-maid. 431
Zuc. Nay, I will be divorced, in despite of ’em all; I’ll go to law with her.
Herc. That’s excellent; nay, I would go to law.