Exit.
[ SCENE VII.]
Manent Phidippus, Laches.
Lach. Going? how’s that? and give me no plain answer!
—D’ye think he’s in his senses?—Well—send home
The child to me, Phidippus. I’ll take care on’t.
Phid. I will.—I can not wonder that my wife
Took this so ill. Women are passionate,
And can’t away with such affronts as these.
This was their quarrel: nay she told me so,