Enter Shape.
Pot. Kind Master Shape, you are exceeding welcome.
Here hath been Master Hearsay and Lieutenant
Slicer: you may guess at their business, but
I hope you think me faithful.
Shape. I believe
The memory of your husband's ashes, which
Scarce yet are cold, extinguisheth all flames
That tend to kindling any love fire. 'Tis
A virtue in you which I must admire,
That only you, amongst so many, should
Be the sole turtle of the age.
Pot. I do
Bear him in memory, I confess; but when
I do remember what your promise was
When he lay sick, it doth take something from
The bitterness of sorrow. Woman was
Not made to be alone still.
Shape. Tender things
At seventeen may use that plea; but you
Are now arriv'd at matron. These young sparks
Are rak'd up, I presume, in sager embers.
Pot. Nay, don't abuse her that must be your wife.
You might have pity, and not come with your nicknames,
And call me turtle. Have I deserved this?
Shape. If that you once hold merits, I have done.
I'm glad I know what's your religion.
Pot. What's my religion? 'Tis well known there hath
Been no religion in my house, e'er since
My husband died.
Enter Slicer, Hearsay.
Hear. How now, sweet Shape'! So close alone
Wi' your widow!