Duke. What jewel, pretty maid?
Bell. Maid? nay, that’s a lie: O, ’twas a very rich jewel, called a maidenhead, and had not you it, leerer?
Mat. Out, you mad ass! away.
Duke. Had he thy maidenhead?
He shall make thee amends, and marry thee.
Bell. Shall he? O brave Arthur of Bradley[227] then?
Duke. And if he bear the mind of a gentleman,
I know he will.
Mat. I think I rifled her of some such paltry jewel.
Duke. Did you? Then marry her; you see the wrong
Has led her spirits into a lunacy.
Mat. How? marry her, my lord? ’Sfoot, marry a madwoman? Let a man get the tamest wife he can come by, she’ll be mad enough afterward, do what he can.
Duke. Nay then, Father Anselmo here shall do his best,
To bring her to her wits; and will you then?