W. Small. Why, my good father, what should you do with a wife?
Would you be crested? Will you needs thrust your head
In one of Vulcan's helmets? Will you perforce
Wear a city cap and a court feather?
Oliver. Villain, slave, thou hast wrong'd my wife.
W. Small. Not so;
Speak, my good wench, have I not done thee right?
Taf. I find no fault; and I protest, Sir Oliver,
I'd not have lost the last two hours' sleep
I had by him for all the wealth you have.
Oliver. Villain—slave, I'll hang thee by the statute;
Thou hast two wives.
W. Small. Be not so furious, sir.
I have but this: the other was my whore,
Which now is married to an honest lawyer.
Oliver. Thou villain—slave, thou hast abus'd thy father.
Bout. "Your son, i' faith, your very son, i' faith!
The villain-boy has one trick of his sire,
Has firk'd away the wench, has pierc'd the hogshead,
And knows by this the vintage."[442]
Oliver. I am undone.
Bout. You could not love the widow, but her wealth.