Bian. Is there no kindness betwixt man and wife,
Unless they make a pigeon-house of friendship,
And be still billing? ’tis the idlest fondness
That ever was invented; and ’tis pity
It ‘s grown a fashion for poor gentlewomen;
There ‘s many a disease kiss’d in a year by ‘t,
And a French court’sy made to’t: Alas, sir,
Think of the world, how we shall live, grow serious;
We have been married a whole fortnight now.
Lean. How? a whole fortnight! why, is that so long?