Give me your hand; it is no more but thus;
Tis easie labour to shake hands with her: 185
A[1936] little breath is spent in speaking of faire words,
When wrath hath violent deliveries.[1937]
M. Bar. What, shall we be resolved? [As if to renew the fray.]
Mi. Bar. O husband, stay!— [Stepping between them.]
Stay, maister Goursey: though your wife doth hate me, 190
And beares unto me mallice infinite
And endlesse, yet I will respect your safeties;
I would not have you perish by our meanes: