Orl. O everlasting, supernatural superlative villain! [Aside.
Duke, Lod., &c. Your wife, Matheo?
Hip. Sure it cannot be.
Mat. Oh, sir, you love no quarters of mutton that hang up, you love none but whole mutton. She set the robbery, I performed it; she spurred me on, I galloped away.
Orl. My lords,—
Bell. My lords,—fellow, give me speech,—if my poor life
May ransom thine, I yield it to the law,
Thou hurt’st thy soul, yet wip’st off no offence,
By casting blots upon my innocence:
Let not these spare me, but tell truth: no, see
Who slips his neck out of the misery,
Though not out of the mischief: let thy servant
That shared in this base act, accuse me here,
Why should my husband perish, he go clear?
Orl. A good child, hang thine own father! [Aside.
Duke. Old fellow, was thy hand in too?
Orl. My hand was in the pie, my lord, I confess it: my mistress, I see, will bring me to the gallows, and so leave me; but I’ll not leave her so: I had rather hang in a woman’s company, than in a man’s; because if we should go to hell together, I should scarce be letten in, for all the devils are afraid to have any women come amongst them. As I am true thief, she neither consented to this felony, nor knew of it.
Duke. What fury prompts thee on to kill thy wife?