Part 19 (1/2)

_Lady_. Is it not strange that every womans will should track out new wayes to disturb her self? if I should call my reason to account, it cannot answer why I keep my self from mine own wish, and stop the man I love from his; and every hour repent again, yet still go on: I know 'tis like a man, that wants his natural sleep, and growing dull would gladly give the remnant of his life for two hours rest; yet through his frowardness, will rather choose to watch another man, drowsie as he, than take his own repose. All this I know: yet a strange peevishness and anger, not to have the power to do things unexpected, carries me away to mine own ruine: I had rather die sometimes than not disgrace in public him whom people think I love, and do't with oaths, and am in earnest then: O what are we! Men, you must answer this, that dare obey such things as we command. How now? what newes?

_Enter_ Abigal.

_Abi_. Faith Madam none worth hearing.

_Lady_. Is he not come?

_Abi_. No truly.

_Lady_. Nor has he writ?

_Abigal_. Neither. I pray G.o.d you have not undone your self.

_Lady_. Why, but what saies he?

_Abi_. Faith he talks strangely.

_Lady_. How strangely?

_Abi_. First at your Letter he laught extremely.

_Lady_. What, in contempt?

_Abi._ He laught monstrous loud, as he would die, and when you wrote it I think you were in no such merry mood, to provoke him that way: and having done he cried Alas for her, and violently laught again.

_Lady._ Did he?

_Abi._ Yes, till I was angry.

_Lady._ Angry, why? why wert thou angry? he did doe but well, I did deserve it, he had been a fool, an unfit man for any one to love, had he not laught thus at me: you were angry, that show'd your folly; I shall love him more for that, than all that ere he did before: but said he nothing else?

_Abi._ Many uncertain things: he said though you had mockt him, because you were a woman, he could wish to do you so much favour as to see you: yet he said, he knew you rash, and was loth to offend you with the sight of one, whom now he was bound not to leave.

_Lady._ What one was that?

_Abi._ I know not, but truly I do fear there is a making up there: for I heard the servants, as I past by some, whisper such a thing: and as I came back through the hall, there were two or three Clarks writing great conveyances in hast, which they said were for their Mistris joynture.

_Lady._ 'Tis very like, and fit it should be so, for he does think, and reasonably think, that I should keep him with my idle tricks for ever ere he be married.

_Abi._ At last he said, it should go hard but he would see you for your satisfaction.

_Lady._ All we that are called Women, know as well as men, it were a far more n.o.ble thing to grace where we are grace't, and give respect there where we are respected: yet we practise a wilder course, and never bend our eyes on men with pleasure, till they find the way to give us a neglect: then we, too late, perceive the loss of what we might have had, and dote to death.

_Enter_ Martha.

_Mar._ Sister, yonder's your Servant, with a Gentlewoman with him.

_Lady._ Where?

_Mar._ Close at the door.

_Lady._ Alas I am undone, I fear he is be[t]roth'd, What kind of woman is she?