SCAR. 'Tis very true[434].
DOC. Now, sir, from this your oath and band[435],
Faith's pledge and seal of conscience you have run,
Broken all contracts, and the forfeiture
Justice hath now in suit against your soul:
Angels are made the jurors, who are witnesses
Unto the oath you took, and God himself,
Maker of marriage, he that seal'd the deed,
As a firm lease unto you during life,
Sits now as judge of your transgression:
The world informs against you with this voice:
If such sins reign, what mortals can rejoice?
SCAR. What then ensues to me?
DOC. A heavy doom, whose execution's
Now serv'd upon your conscience, that ever
You shall feel plagues, whom time shall not dissever;
As in a map your eyes see all your life,
Bad words, worse deeds, false oaths, and all the injuries,
You have done unto your soul: then comes your wife,
Full of woe's drops, and yet as full of pity,
Who though she speaks not, yet her eyes are swords[436],
That cut your heart-strings: and then your children—
SCAR. O, O, O!
DOC. Who, what they cannot say, talk in their looks;
You have made us up, but as misfortune's books,
Whom other men may read in, when presently,
Task'd by yourself, you are not, like a thief,
Astonied, being accus'd, but scorch'd with grief.
SCAR. I, I, I.
DOC. Here stand your wife's tears.
SCAR. Where?
DOC. And you fry for them: here lie your children's wants.