Vio. My husband, good my lord.
Duke. Have I thy husband?
Cast. It’s Candido, my lord, he’s here among the lunatics: Father Anselmo, pray fetch him forth. [Exit Anselmo.] This mad woman is his wife, and though she were not with child, yet did she long most spitefully to have her husband mad: and because she would be sure he should turn Jew, she placed him here in Bethlem. Yonder he comes.
Enter Anselmo with Candido.
Duke. Come hither, signor; are you mad?
Cand. You are not mad.
Duke. Why, I know that.
Cand. Then may you know I am not mad, that know
You are not mad, and that you are the duke:
None is mad here but one.—How do you, wife?
What do you long for now?—Pardon, my lord:
She had lost her child’s nose else: I did cut out
Pennyworths of lawn, the lawn was yet mine own:
A carpet was my gown, yet ’twas mine own:
I wore my man’s coat, yet the cloth mine own:
Had a cracked crown, the crown was yet mine own.
She says for this I’m mad: were her words true,
I should be mad indeed: O foolish skill![230]
Is patience madness? I’ll be a madman still.
Vio. Forgive me, and I’ll vex your spirit no more. [Kneels.