BUT. He is of seemly rank, sir, and calls himself
By the name of Doctor Baxter of Oxford.
SCAR. That man undid me; he did blossoms blow,
Whose fruit proved poison, though 'twas good in show:
With him I'll parley, and disrobe my thoughts
Of this wild frenzy that becomes me not.
A table, candles, stools, and all things fit,
I know he comes to chide me, and I'll hear him:
With our sad conference we will call up tears,
Teach doctors rules, instruct succeeding years:
Usher him in:
Heaven spare a drop from thence, where's bounteous throng:
Give patience to my soul, inflame my tongue.
Enter DOCTOR.
DOC. Good Master Scarborow.
SCAR. You are most kindly welcome, sooth, ye are.
DOC. I have important business to deliver you.
SCAR. And I have leisure to attend your hearing.
DOC. Sir, you know I married you.
SCAR. I know you did, sir.
DOC. At which you promis'd both to God and men,
Your life unto your spouse should be like snow,
That falls to comfort, not to overthrow:
And love unto your issue should be like
The dew of heaven, that hurts not, though it strike:
When heaven and men did witness and record
'Twas an eternal oath, no idle word:
Heaven, being pleased therewith, bless'd you with children,
And at heaven's blessings all good men rejoice.
So that God's chair and footstool, heaven and earth,
Made offering at your nuptials as a knot
To mind you of your vow; O, break it not.