Throat. I am gull'd and abus'd; and by a statute
Of Tricesimo of the late Queen
I will star-chamber you all for cosenage,
And be by law divorc'd.
W. Small. Sir, 'twill not hold:
She's your leeful, lawful, and true-wedded wife,
Teste Lieutenant Beard.
Beard. Was't you that brake my head?
W. Small. But why shouldst think much to die a cuckold,
Being born a knave? As good lawyers as you
Scorn not horns.
Throat. I am gull'd, ay me accurs'd!
Why should the harmless men be vex'd with horns,
When women most deserve them?
W. Small. I'll show you, sir:
The husband is the wife's head, and, I pray,
Where should the horns stand but upon the head?
Why, wert not thou begot (thou foolish knave)
By a poor sumner on a serjeant's widow?
Wert not thou a Puritan, and put in trust
To gather relief for the distress'd Geneva[ns]?
And didst not thou leave thy poor brethren,
And run away with all the money? Speak,
Was not that thy first rising? Go,
Y' are well-coupled: by Jove, ye are. She is
But a younger sister newly come to town:
She's current metal, not a penny the worse
For a little use: whole within the ring,
By my soul.
Beard. Will he take her, think'st thou?
Bout. Yes, faith upon her promise of amendment.
Jus. Tut. The lawyer is gull'd.
Throat. Am I thus over-reach'd to have a wife,
And not of the best neither?