Rom. Sure a Legion has possest this woman.
Beau. One stampe more would do well: yet I desire not
You should grow horne-mad, till you haue a wife.
You are come to warme meate, and perhaps cleane linnen:
Feed, weare it, and bee thankefull. For me, know, [195]
That though a thousand watches were set on mee,
And you the Master-spy, I yet would vse,
The liberty that best likes mee. I will reuell,
Feast, kisse, imbreace, perhaps grant larger fauours:
Yet such as liue vpon my meanes, shall know [200]
They must not murmur at it. If my Lord
Bee now growne yellow, and has chose out you
To serue his Iealouzy that way, tell him this,
You haue something to informe him:
Exit Beau.
Rom. And I will.
Beleeue it wicked one I will. Heare, Heauen, [205]
But hearing pardon mee: if these fruts grow
Vpon the tree of marriage, let me shun it,
As a forbidden sweete. An heyre and rich,
Young, beautifull, yet adde to this a wife,
And I will rather choose a Spittle sinner [210]
Carted an age before, though three parts rotten,
And take it for a blessing, rather then
Be fettered to the hellish slauery
Of such an impudence.
Enter Baumont with writings.
Bau. Collonell, good fortune
To meet you thus: you looke sad, but Ile tell you [215]
Something that shall remoue it. Oh how happy
Is my Lord Charaloys in his faire bride!
Rom. A happy man indeede!—pray you in what?
Bau. I dare sweare, you would thinke so good a Lady,
A dower sufficient.
Rom. No doubt. But on. [220]
Bau. So faire, so chaste, so vertuous: so indeed
All that is excellent.