Wid. Good morrow, landlord. Where have you been sweating?
Sel. Good morrow to your honours: thrift is industrious. Your ladyship knows we will not stick to sweat for our pleasures: how much more ought we to sweat for our profits! I am come from Master Ingen this morning, who is married, or to be married; and though your ladyship did not honour his nuptials with your presence, he hath by me sent each of you a pair of gloves, and Grace Seldom, my wife, is not forgot.
[Exit.
Omnes. God give him joy, God give him joy.
[Exeunt.[82]
Maid. Let all things most impossible change now!
O perjur'd man! oaths are but words, I see.
But wherefore should not we, that think we love
Upon full merit, that same worth once ceasing,
Surcease our love too, and find new desert?
Alas! we cannot; love's a pit which, when
We fall into, we ne'er get out again:
And this same horrid news which me assaults,
I would forget: love blanches blackest faults.
O, what path shall I tread for remedy
But darkest shades, where love with death doth lie!
[Exit.
Manent Husband, Wife, Subtle.
Wife. Sir, I have often heard my husband speak
Of your acquaintance.
Hus. Nay, my virtuous wife,
Had it been but acquaintance, this his absence
Had not appear'd so uncouth: but we two
Were school-fellows together, born and nurs'd,
Brought up, and liv'd since, like the Gemini:
Had but one suck: the tavern or the ordinary,
Ere I was married, that saw one of us
Without the other, said we walk'd by halves.
Where, dear—dear friend, have you been all this while?
Sub. O most sweet friend, the world's so vicious,
That had I with such familiarity
Frequented you, since you were married,
Possess'd and us'd your fortunes as before,
As in like manner you commanded mine,
The deprav'd thoughts of men would have proclaim'd
Some scandalous rumours from this love of ours,
As saying mine reflected on your lady;
And what a wound had that been to our souls,
When only friendship should have been the ground
To hurt her honour and your confident peace,
Spite of mine own approv'd integrity?
Hus. Wife, kiss him, bid him welcome: pox o' th' world!
Come, come, you shall not part from me in haste.
I do command thee use this gentleman
In all things like myself: if I should die,
I would bequeath him in my will to thee.[83]