Hip. On Thursday buried! and on Monday died!
Quick haste, byrlady;[121] sure her winding sheet
Was laid out ’fore her body; and the worms
That now must feast with her, were even bespoke,
And solemnly invited like strange guests.
Mat. Strange feeders they are indeed, my lord, and, like your jester, or young courtier, will enter upon any man’s trencher without bidding.
Hip. Curst be that day for ever that robbed her
Of breath, and me, of bliss! henceforth let it stand
Within the wizard’s book (the calendar)
Marked with a marginal finger, to be chosen
By thieves, by villains, and black murderers,
As the best day for them to labour in.
If henceforth this adulterous bawdy world
Be got with child with treason, sacrilege,
Atheism, rapes, treacherous friendship, perjury,
Slander (the beggar’s sin), lies (sin of fools),
Or any other damned impieties,
On Monday let ’em be deliverèd:
I swear to thee, Matheo, by my soul,
Hereafter weekly on that day I’ll glue
Mine eye-lids down, because they shall not gaze
On any female cheek. And being locked up
In my close chamber, there I’ll meditate
On nothing but my Infelice’s end,
Or on a dead man’s skull draw out mine own.
Mat. You’ll do all these good works now every Monday, because it is so bad: but I hope upon Tuesday morning I shall take you with a wench.
Hip. If ever, whilst frail blood through my veins run,
On woman’s beams I throw affection,
Save her that’s dead: or that I loosely fly
To th’ shore of any other wafting eye,
Let me not prosper, Heaven! I will be true,
Even to her dust and ashes: could her tomb
Stand whilst I lived, so long that it might rot,
That should fall down, but she be ne’er forgot.
Mat. If you have this strange monster, honesty, in your belly, why so jig-makers[122] and chroniclers shall pick something out of you; but an I smell not you and a bawdy house out within these ten days, let my nose be as big as an English bag-pudding: I’ll follow your lordship, though it be to the place aforenamed. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Another Street.
Enter Fustigo in some fantastic Sea-suit, meeting a Porter.
Fus. How now, porter, will she come?