Part 19 (1/2)

LADY TOUCH. Moderate your rage, good my lord! He's mad, alas, he's mad.

Indeed he is, my lord, and knows not what he does. See how wild he looks.

MEL. By heaven, 'twere senseless not to be mad, and see such witchcraft.

LADY TOUCH. My lord, you hear him, he talks idly.

LORD TOUCH. Hence from my sight, thou living infamy to my name; when next I see that face, I'll write villain in't with my sword's point.

MEL. Now, by my soul, I will not go till I have made known my wrongs.

Nay, till I have made known yours, which, if possible, are greater,--though she has all the host of h.e.l.l her servants.

LADY TOUCH. Alas, he raves! Talks very poetry! For heaven's sake away, my lord, he'll either tempt you to extravagance, or commit some himself.

MEL. Death and furies, will you not hear me?--Why by heaven she laughs, grins, points to your back; she forks out cuckoldom with her fingers, and you're running horn-mad after your fortune. [_As she is going she turns back and smiles at him_.]

LORD TOUCH. I fear he's mad indeed.--Let's send Maskwell to him.

MEL. Send him to her.

LADY TOUCH. Come, come, good my lord, my heart aches so, I shall faint if I stay.

SCENE XXI.

MELLEFONT _alone_.

MEL. Oh, I could curse my stars, fate, and chance; all causes and accidents of fortune in this life! But to what purpose? Yet, 'sdeath, for a man to have the fruit of all his industry grow full and ripe, ready to drop into his mouth, and just when he holds out his hand to gather it, to have a sudden whirlwind come, tear up tree and all, and bear away the very root and foundation of his hopes:--what temper can contain? They talk of sending Maskwell to me; I never had more need of him. But what can he do? Imagination cannot form a fairer and more plausible design than this of his which has miscarried. O my precious aunt, I shall never thrive without I deal with the devil, or another woman.

Women, like flames, have a destroying power,

Ne'er to be quenched, till they themselves devour.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

LADY TOUCHWOOD _and_ MASKWELL.

LADY TOUCH. Was't not lucky?

MASK. Lucky! Fortune is your own, and 'tis her interest so to be. By heaven I believe you can control her power, and she fears it: though chance brought my lord, 'twas your own art that turned it to advantage.

LADY TOUCH. 'Tis true it might have been my ruin. But yonder's my lord.