M. Merry. Yea, and perchance that way ye shall much sooner speed;
For one mad property these women have, in fay,[126]
When ye will, they will not: will not ye? then will they.
Ah, foolish woman! ah, most unlucky Custance!
Ah, unfortunate woman! ah, peevish Custance,
Art thou to thine harms so obstinately bent,
That thou canst not see where lieth thine high preferment?
Canst thou not lub dis man, which could lub dee so well?
Art thou so much thine own foe?
R. Roister. Thou dost the truth tell.