GENTLEMAN.
Well or ill met, I care not.
HUSBAND.
No, nor I.
GENTLEMAN.
I am come with confidence to chide you.
HUSBAND.
Who? me?
Chide me? Doo’t finely then: let it not move me,
For if thou chidst me angry, I shall strike.
GENTLEMAN.
Strike thine own follies, for it is they deserve
To be well beaten. We are now in private:
There’s none but thou and I. Thou’rt fond and peevish,
An unclean rioter: thy lands and Credit
Lie now both sick of a consumption.
I am sorry for thee: that man spends with shame
That with his riches does consume his name:
And such thou art.
HUSBAND.
Peace.
GENTLEMAN.
No, thou shalt hear me further:
Thy fathers and forefathers worthy honors,
Which were our country monuments, our grace,
Follies in thee begin now to deface.
The spring time of thy youth did fairly promise
Such a most fruitful summer to thy friends
It scarce can enter into mens beliefs,
Such dearth should hang on thee. We that see it,
Are sorry to believe it: in thy change,
This voice into all places will be hurld:
Thou and the devil has deceived the world.
HUSBAND.
I’ll not indure thee.
GENTLEMAN.
But of all the worst:
Thy vertuous wife, right honourably allied,
Thou hast proclaimed a strumpet.
HUSBAND.
Nay, the, I know thee.
Thou art her champion, thou, her private friend,
The party you wot on.