FUL. Now, Master Anselm, to her, step not back;
Bustle yourself, see where she sits at work;
Be not afraid, man; she's but a woman,
And women the most cowards seldom fear:
Think but upon my former principles,
And twenty pound to a drachm,[7] you speed.
ANS. Ay, say you so?
FUL. Beware of blushing, sirrah,
Of fear and too much eloquence!
Rail on her husband, his misusing her,
And make that serve thee as an argument,
That she may sooner yield to do him wrong.
Were it my case, my love and I to plead,
I have't at fingers' ends: who could miss the clout,
Having so fair a white, such steady aim.
This is the upshot: now bid for the game.
[ANSELM advances.
ANS. Fair mistress, God save you!
FUL. What a circumstance
Doth he begin with; what an ass is he,
To tell her at the first that she is fair;
The only means to make her to be coy!
He should have rather told her she was foul,
And brought her out of love quite with herself;
And, being so, she would the less have car'd,
Upon whose secrets she had laid her love.
He hath almost marr'd all with that word fair. [Aside.[8]
ANS. Mistress, God save you!
FUL. What a block is that,
To say, God save you! is the fellow mad?
Once to name God in his ungodly suit.
MRS ART. You are welcome, sir. Come you to speak with me
Or with my husband? pray you, what's your will?
FUL. She answers to the purpose; what's your will?
O zounds, that I were there to answer her.