Volume Ix Part 10 (1/2)

FUL. That thou shalt.

My mistress in a humour had protested, That above all the world she lov'd me best; Saying with suitors she was oft molested, And she had lodg'd her heart within my breast; And sware (but me), both by her mask and fan, She never would so much as name a man.

Not name a man? quoth I; yet be advis'd; Not love a man but me! let it be so.

You shall not think, quoth she, my thought's disguis'd In flattering language or dissembling show; I say again, and I know what I do, I will not name a man alive but you.

Into her house I came at unaware, Her back was to me, and I was not seen; I stole behind her, till I had her fair, Then with my hands I closed both her een; She, blinded thus, beginneth to bethink her Which of her loves it was that did hoodwink her.

First she begins to guess and name a man, That I well knew, but she had known far better; The next I never did suspect till then: Still of my name I could not hear a letter; Then mad, she did name Robin, and then James, Till she had reckon'd up some twenty names; At length, when she had counted up a score, As one among the rest, she hit on me; I ask'd her if she could not reckon more, And pluck'd away my hands to let her see; But, when she look'd back, and saw me behind her, She blush'd, and ask'd if it were I did blind her?

And since I sware, both by her mask and fan, To trust no she-tongue, that can name a man.

ANS. Your great oath hath some exceptions: But to our former purpose; yon is Mistress Arthur; We will attempt another kind of wooing, And make her hate her husband, if we can.

FUL. But not a word of pa.s.sion or of love; Have at her now to try her patience.

_Enter_ MISTRESS ARTHUR.

G.o.d save you, mistress!

MRS ART. You are welcome, sir.

FUL. I pray you, where's your husband?

MRS ART. Not within.

ANS. Who, Master Arthur? him I saw even now At Mistress Mary's, the brave courtesan's.

MRS ART. Wrong not my husband's reputation so; I neither can nor will believe you, sir.

FUL. Poor gentlewoman! how much I pity you; Your husband is become her only guest: He lodges there, and daily diets there, He riots, revels, and doth all things; Nay, he is held the Master of Misrule 'Mongst a most loathed and abhorred crew: And can you, being a woman, suffer this?

MRS ART. Sir, sir! I understand you well enough: Admit, my husband doth frequent that house Of such dishonest usage; I suppose He doth it but in zeal to bring them home By his good counsel from that course of sin; And, like a Christian, seeing them astray In the broad path that to d.a.m.nation leads, He useth thither to direct their feet Into the narrow way that guides to heaven.

ANS. Was ever woman gull'd so palpably! [_Aside_.]

But, Mistress Arthur, think you as you say?

MRS ART. Sir, what I think, I think, and what I say, I would I could enjoin you to believe.

ANS. Faith, Mistress Arthur, I am sorry for you: And, in good sooth, I wish it lay in me To remedy the least part of these wrongs Your unkind husband daily proffers you.

MRS ART. You are deceived, he is not unkind: Although he bear an outward face of hate, His heart and soul are both a.s.sured mine.

ANS. Fie, Mistress Arthur! take a better spirit; Be not so timorous to rehea.r.s.e your wrongs: I say, your husband haunts bad company, Swaggerers, cheaters, wanton courtesans; There he defiles his body, stains his soul, Consumes his wealth, undoes himself and you In danger of diseases, whose vile names Are not for any honest mouths to speak, Nor any chaste ears to receive and hear.

O, he will bring that face, admir'd for beauty, To be more loathed than a lep'rous skin!

Divorce yourself, now whilst the clouds grow black; Prepare yourself a shelter for the storm; Abandon his most loathed fellows.h.i.+p: You are young, mistress; will you lose your youth?

MRS ART. Tempt no more, devil! thy deformity Hath chang'd itself into an angel's shape, But yet I know thee by thy course of speech: Thou gett'st an apple to betray poor Eve, Whose outside bears a show of pleasant fruit; But the vile branch, on which this apple grew, Was that which drew poor Eve from paradise.

Thy Syren's song could make me drown myself, But I am tied unto the mast of truth.

Admit, my husband be inclin'd to vice, My virtues may in time recall him home; But, if we both should desp'rate run to sin, We should abide certain destruction.

But he's like one, that over a sweet face Puts a deformed vizard; for his soul Is free from any such intents of ill: Only to try my patience he puts on An ugly shape of black intemperance; Therefore, this blot of shame which he now wears, I with my prayers will purge, wash with my tears.

[_Exit_.