Tut, tut, yourself now have marred your own marriage. [Aside.
Well yet, Mistress Custance, if ye can this remit;
This gentleman otherwise may your love requite.
C. Custance. No, God be with you both, and seek no more to me. [Exit.
R. Roister. Wough! she is gone for ever, I shall her no more see.
M. Merry. What, weep? Fie for shame! And blubber? For manhood's sake!
Never let your foe so much pleasure of you take.
Rather play the man's part, and do love refrain:
If she despise you, e'en despise ye her again.
R. Roister. By Goss[125] and for thy sake, I defy her indeed!