CON. The weaker you; you are forbid a widow, And 'tis the first thing you will fall into. Me thinks a young clear-skinn'd country gentlewoman, That never saw baboons, lions, or courtiers, Might prove a handsome wife; or what do you say To a citizen's daughter, that never was in love With a player, that never learnt to dance, That never dwelt near any inn-of-court-- Might not she in time prove an honest wife? Faith, take a maid, and leave the widow, master: Of all meats I love not a gaping oyster. BOUT. God speed your works, fair maids. ADR. You much mistake: 'Tis no work. BOUT. What then? ADR. A preparation To a work, sir. BOUT. What work, sweet ladies? ADR. Why, to a marriage; that's a work, I think. BOUT. How? a preparation to a marriage? Of whom, kind maids, of whom? ADR. And why kind maids? I hope you have had no kindness at our hand To make you say so: but, sir, understand That Sir Oliver Small-shanks, the noble knight, And Mistress Taffata, the rich widow, Must this day be coupled, conjoined, Married, espoused, wedded, contracted. Or, as the Puritan says, put together; And so, sir, to the shifting of our clean smocks We leave you. [_Exeunt_ ADRIANA _and the other women_. BOUT. Married! and to-day? Dissension, jealousy, hate, beggary, With all the dire events which breed dislike In nuptial beds, attend her bridal steps! Can vows and oaths with such protesting action, As if their hearts were spit forth with their words, As if their souls were darted through their eyes, Be of no more validity with women? Have I for her contemn'd my fixéd fate, Neglected my fair hopes, and scorn'd the love Of beauteous, virtuous, and honour'd Constantia? CON. Now works it with my wish: my hopes are full. [_Aside._ BOUT. And I engag'd my worth, and ventur'd life On yonder buffling[437] face, to have men scorn, And point at my disgrace? first will I leave to live! There take my purse, live thou to better fate, [BOUTCHER _hangs himself_. Better thus die than live unfortunate. CON. Ay me accurs'd! help, help, murther! murther! Curs'd be the day and hour that gave me breath! Murther, murther! if any gentleman Can hear my plaints, come forth, and assist me. W. SMALL.[438] _What out-cries call me from my naked bed?_ _Who calls Jeronimo?_ speak, here I am. CON. Good sir, leave your struggling and acting, And help to save the life of a distressed man; O, help, if you be gentlemen! W. SMALL. _What's here?_ _A man hang'd up, and all the murtherers gone,_ _And at my door, to lay the guilt on me?_ _This place was made to pleasure citizens' wives,_ And not to hang up honest gentlemen.