W. Small. Come, Isabella, help me to lament,
For sighs are stopp'd, and all my tears are spent.
These clothes I oft have seen, ay me, my friend!
Pursue the murtherers, raise all the street.
Con. It shall not need; he stirs; give him breath.
W. Small. Is there yet life? Horatio, my dear boy:
Horatio, Horatio, what hast thou misdone,
To lose thy life, when life was new-begun?
Bout. 'S heart! a man had as good be hang'd outright,
As to endure this clapping. Shame to thy sex,
Perfidious perjur'd woman, where's thy shame?
How can thy modesty forbear to blush,
And know'st I know thee an adulteress?
Have not thy vows made thee my lawful wife
Before the face of heaven? where is thy shame?
But why speak I of shame to thee, whose face
Is steel'd with custom'd sin; whose thoughts want grace,
The custom of thy sin so lulls thy sense.
Women ne'er blush, though ne'er so foul th' offence.
To break thy vow to me, and straight to wed
A doating stinkard!
W. Small. But hold your tongue,
Or by this light I'll truss you up again.
'Heart! rail on my wife! am I[439] a stinkard,
Or do I doat? speak such another word,
And up you truss again. Am I a stinkard?
Bout. The knight your father is.
W. Small. Why, who denies it?
He supplanted[440] thee, and I supplanted him.
Come, come, you shall be friends: come, forgive her;
For by this light there is no remedy,
Unless you will betake you to my leavings.
Con. Rather than so, I'll help you to a wife,
Rich, well-born, and by some accounted fair;
And for the worth of her virginity,
I dare presume to pawn my honesty:
What say you to Constantia Sommerfield?
W. Small. Dost know where she is, boy?
Con. I do; nay more,
If he but swear to embrace her constant love,
I'll fetch her to this place.