FUL. I pray you, where's your husband?
MRS ART. Not within.
ANS. Who, Master Arthur? him I saw even now
At Mistress Mary's, the brave courtesan's.
MRS ART. Wrong not my husband's reputation so;
I neither can nor will believe you, sir.
FUL. Poor gentlewoman! how much I pity you;
Your husband is become her only guest:
He lodges there, and daily diets there,
He riots, revels, and doth all things;
Nay, he is held the Master of Misrule
'Mongst a most loathed and abhorred crew:
And can you, being a woman, suffer this?
MRS ART. Sir, sir! I understand you well enough:
Admit, my husband doth frequent that house
Of such dishonest usage; I suppose
He doth it but in zeal to bring them home
By his good counsel from that course of sin;
And, like a Christian, seeing them astray
In the broad path that to damnation leads,
He useth thither to direct their feet
Into the narrow way that guides to heaven.
ANS. Was ever woman gull'd so palpably! [Aside.]
But, Mistress Arthur, think you as you say?
MRS ART. Sir, what I think, I think, and what I say,
I would I could enjoin you to believe.
ANS. Faith, Mistress Arthur, I am sorry for you:
And, in good sooth, I wish it lay in me
To remedy the least part of these wrongs
Your unkind husband daily proffers you.
MRS ART. You are deceived, he is not unkind:
Although he bear an outward face of hate,
His heart and soul are both assured mine.