Say, didst thou speak with him? Know’st thou his mind?
E. Dro. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear. Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?
E. Dro. Nay, he strook so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them.
Adr.
But say, I prithee, is he coming home?
It seems he hath great care to please his wife.
E. Dro.
Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.
Adr.
Horn-mad, thou villain!
E. Dro.
I mean not cuckold-mad—
But sure he is stark mad:
When I desir’d him to come home to dinner,
He ask’d me for a [thousand] marks in gold:
“’Tis dinner-time,” quoth I: “My gold!” quoth he.
“Your meat doth burn,” quoth I: “My gold!” quoth he.
“Will you come?” quoth I: “My gold!” quoth he;
“Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?”
“The pig,” quoth I, “is burn’d”: “My gold!” quoth he.
“My mistress, sir,” quoth I: “Hang up thy mistress!
I know not thy mistress, out on thy mistress!”
Luc.
Quoth who?
E. Dro.
Quoth my master.
“I know,” quoth he, “no house, no wife, no mistress.”
So that my arrant, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders:
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.
Adr.
Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.
E. Dro.
Go back again, and be new beaten home?
For God’s sake send some other messenger.
Adr.
Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.
E. Dro.
And he will bless that cross with other beating:
Between you I shall have a holy head.
Adr.
Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy master home.
E. Dro.
Am I so round with you, as you with me,
That like a football you do spurn me thus?
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither:
If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.
Exit.
Luc.
Fie, how impatience low’reth in your face!
Adr.
His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look:
Hath homely age th’ alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek? Then he hath wasted it.
Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit?
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr’d,
Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard.
Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
That’s not my fault, he’s master of my state.
What ruins are in me that can be found,
By him not ruin’d? Then is he the ground
Of my defeatures. My decayed fair
A sunny look of his would soon repair.
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,
And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.
Luc.
Self-harming jealousy—fie, beat it hence!
Adr.
Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense:
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere,
Or else what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promis’d me a chain;
Would that alone a’ love he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
I see the jewel best enamelled
Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still
That others touch and, often touching, will
Where gold; and no man that hath a name
By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die.
Luc.
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy?
Exeunt.
