Leo. Nay, good sweet madam.
You would not think how much this passion alters you;
It drinks up all the beauty of your cheek.
I promise you, madam, you have lost much blood.
Wife. Let it draw death upon me, for till then
I shall be mistress of no true content:
Who could endure hourly temptation,
And bear it as I do?
Leo. Nay, that's most certain:
Unless it were myself again: I can do't,
I suffer the like daily; you should complain, madam.
Wife. Which way, were that wisdom? prythee, wench, to whom?
Leo. To him that makes all whole again—my lord.
To one that, if he be a kind, good husband,
Will let you bear no more than you are able.
Wife. Thou know'st not what thou speakest; why, my lord's he
That gives him the house's freedom, all his boldness—
Keeps him o' purpose here to war with me.
Leo. Now I hold wiser of my lord than so:
He knows the world; he would not be so idle.
Wife. I speak sad truth to thee; I am not private
In mine own chamber, such his impudence is:
Nay, my repenting-time is scarce bless'd from him—
He will offend my prayers.
Leo. Out upon him!
I believe, madam, he's of no religion.
Wife. He serves my lord, and that's enough for him:
And preys upon poor ladies like myself—
There's all the gentleman's devotion.