Mar. They shall be welcome;
See all be ready in the noblest fashion.

Go, get your best clothes on; but 'till I call ye,
Be sure you be not seen. Dine with the gentlewo-

men,

And behave yourself handsome, sir, 'tis for my credit.

Enter ISABEL.

Isab. Madam, the Lady Julia-
Leon. That's a bawd,

A three pil'd bawd; bawd-major to the army.
Isab. Has brought her coach to wait upon your
ladyship,

And to be inform'd if you will take the air this morn

ing.

Leon. The neat air of her nunnery.

Mar. Tell her no, i'th' afternoon I'll call on her. Isab. I will, madam. [Exit. Mar. Why are you not gone, sir, as I bade you? Leon. Faith madam, in my little understanding, You'd better entertain your honest neighbours, Your friends about ye, that may speak well of ye, And give a worthy mention of your bounty. Mar. How now, what's this?

Leon. 'Tis only to persuade ye:

Courtiers are tickle things to deal withal,

A kind of march-pane men that will not last, madam;
An egg and pepper goes farther than their portions,
And in a well knit body, a poor parsnip

Will play his prize above their strong potables.
Mar. The fellow's mad!

Leon. He that shall counsel ladies,

That have both liquorish and ambitious eyes,
Is either mad or drunk, let him speak gospel.
Alt. He breaks out modestly.

Leon. Pray ye be not angry,

My indiscretion has made me bold to tell ye
What you'll find true.

Mar. Thou dar'st not talk.

Leon. Not much, madam,

You have a tie upon your servant's tongue,
He dare not be so bold as reason bids him ;

'Twere fit there were a stronger on your temper.
Ne'er look so stern upon me, I'm your husband,
But what are husbands? Read the new world's won

ders,

Such husbands as this monstrous world produces,
And you will scarce find such strange deformities.
They're shadows to conceal your venial virtues,
Sails to your mills, that grind with all occasions,
Balls that lie by you, to wash out your stains;
And bills nail'd up, with horns before your doors,
To rent out wantonness.

Mar. Do you hear him talk?

Leon. I've done, madam,

An ox once spoke, as learned men deliver.

Shortly I shall be such, then I'll speak wonders.
Till when I tie myself to my obedience.

[Exit.

Mar. First I'll untie myself: did you mark the gentleman,

How boldly and how saucily he talk'd:

And how unlike the lump I took him for?

This was your providence,

Your wisdom, to elect this gentleman,

Your excellent forecast in the man, your knowledge,

What think ye now?

Alt. I think him an ass still,

This boldness some of your people have blown into him,

This wisdom too with strong wine, tis 'a tyrant,

And a philosopher also, and finds out reasons.

Mar. I'll have my cellar lock'd, no school kept there,

Nor no discovery. I'll turn my drunkards,

Such as are understanding in their draughts,
And dispute learnedly the whys and wherefores,
To grass immediately. I'll keep all fools,

Sober or drunk, still fools, that shall know nothing,
Nothing belongs to mankind, but obedience,
And such an hand I'll keep over this husband.

Alt. He'll fall again, my life, he cries by this time, Keep him from drink; he's a high constitution.

Enter LEON:

Leon. Shall I wear my new suit, madam?
Mar. No, your old cloaths.

And get you into the country presently,

And see my hawks well train'd, you shall have victuals,

Such as are fit for saucy palates, sir,

And lodgings with the hinds, it is too good too.
Leon. Good madam, be not so rough with repent-

ance.

Alt. You see how he's come round again.
Mar. I see not what I expect to see.

Leon. You shall see, madam, if it please your ladyship.

Alt. He's humbled;

Forgive, good lady.

Mar. Well, go get you handsome,

And let me hear no more.

Leon. Have ye no feeling?

I'll pinch you to the bones then, my proud lady.

[Aside.

[Exit.

Mar. See you preserve him thus upon my favour : You know his temper, tie him to the grindstone; The next rebellion I'll be rid of him; I'll have no needy rascals, I tie to me, Dispute my life: come in and see all handsome. Alt. I hope to see you so too, I've wrought ill else. [Aside. Ex unt.

Never return to my own house again?
We're lodg'd here in the miserablest dog-hole,
A conjurer's circle gives content above it;
A hawk's mew is a princely palace to it!
We have a bed no bigger than a basket,
And there we lie like butter clapt together,
And sweat ourselves to sauce immediately;
The fumes are infinite inhabit here too,
So various too, they'll pose a gold finder!
Never return to my own Paradise?
Why wife, I say, why Estifania!

Estif. [Within.] I'm going presently.
Per. Make haste, good jewel.

I'm like the people that live in the sweet islands:
I die, I die, if I stay but one day more here.
The inhabitants we have are two starv'd rats,
For they're not able to maintain a cat here,
And those appear as fearful as two devils;
They've eat a map o' the whole world up already,
And if we stay a night, we're gone for company.
There's an old woman that's now grown to marble,
Dry'd in this brick-kiln, and she sits i'the chimney,
(Which is but three tiles rais'd, like a house of cards)
The true proportion of an old smoak'd Sibyl,
There is a young thing too, that nature meant
For a maid-servant, but 'tis now a monster,
She has a husk about her like a chesnut,

With laziness, and living under the line here,
And these two make a hollow sound together,
Like frogs, or winds between two doors that murmur.
Enter ESTIFANIA.

Mercy deliver me! O, are you come, wife,
Shall we be free again?

Estif. I am now going;

And you shall presently to your own house, sir.
The remembrance of this small vexation

Will be argument of mirth for ever.

By that time you have said your orisons,

And broke your fast, I shall be back and ready

To usher you to your

old content, your freedom. Per. Break my fast, break my neck rather, is there any thing here to eat,

But one another, like a race of cannibals?

A piece of butter'd wall you think is excellent.
Let's have our house again immediately,
And pray ye take heed unto the furniture,
None be embezzled.

Estif. Not a pin, I warrant ye.

Per. And let them instantly depart.
Estif. They shall both,

(There's reason in all courtesies)

For by this time I know she has acquainted him,
And has provided too, she sent me word, sir,
And will give over gratefully unto you.

Per. I will walk i'the churchyard,

The dead cannot offend more than these living.
An hour hence I'll expect ye.

Estif. I'll not fail, sir.

Per. And, do you hear, let's have a handsome

dinner,

And, see all things be decent as they have been,
And let me have a strong bath to restore me:
I stink like a stale fish shambles, or an oil-shop.