Bold. What's that to you, sir? at a woman's labour?
Sub. Very good: I ne'er took you for a man-midwife[121] before.
Bold. The truth is, I have been up all night at
dice, and lost my clothes. Good morrow, Master Subtle. Pray God the watch be broke up: I thank you for my music.
[Exit.
Sub. 'Tis palpable, by this air: her husband being abroad, Bold has lain with her, and is now conveyed out of doors. Is this the Lady Perfect, with a pox? The truth is, her virtuous chastity began to make me make a miracle of her still holding out to me, notwithstanding her husband's most barbarous usage of her; but now, indeed, 'tis no marvel, since another possesses her.
Well, madam, I will go find out your cuckold;
I'll be reveng'd on you, and tell a tale
Shall tickle him. This is a cheat in love
Not to be borne: another to beguile
Me of the game I play'd for all this while.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Enter Welltried, and Bold putting on his doublet; Feesimple asleep on a bed, as in Bold's chamber.