Good Lord, what kinde of creatures women are!
Their love is lightly wonne and lightly lost;
And then their hate is deadly and extreame:
He that doth take a wyfe betakes himselfe 20
To all the cares and troubles of the world.
Now her disquietnes doth grieve my father,
Greeves me, and troubles all the house besides.—
What, shall I have some drinke? [Horn sounded within]—How now? a horne!
Belike the drunken slave[1716] is fallen asleepe, 25
And now the boy doth wake him with his horne.