WIFE. Yet there is a date set to all sorrows; Nothing is everlasting in this world. Your counsel will prevail: persuade him, good sir, To fall into life's happiness again, And leave the desolate path. I want his company. He walks at midnight in thick shady woods, Where scarce the moon is starlight; I have watch'd him In silent nights, when all the earth was dress'd Up like a virgin, in white innocent beams: Stood in my window, cold and thinly clad, T' observe him through the bounty of the moon, That liberally bestow'd her graces on me, And when the morning dew began to fall, Then was my time to weep; h' has lost his kindness, Forgot the way of wedlock, and become A stranger to the joys and rites of love. He's not so good as a lord ought to be. Pray tell him so from me, sir. [_Exit_ WIFE. VOT. That will I, madam. Now must I dress a strange dish for his honour. ANS. Call you this courting? 'life! not one word near it. There was no syllable but was twelve score off. My faith, [a] hot temptation! woman's chastity In such a conflict had great need of one To keep the bridge; 'twas dangerous for the time. Why, what fantastic faiths are in these days Made without substance; whom should a man trust In matters about love? VOT. Mass! here he comes too. _Enter_ ANSELMUS. ANS. How now, Votarius! what's the news for us? VOT. You set me to a task, sir, that will find Ten ages work enough, and then unfinish'd. Bring sin before her! why, it stands more quaking, Than if a judge should frown on't; three such fits Would shake it into goodness, and quite beggar The under kingdom. Not the art of man, Woman, or devil-- ANS. O, peace, man! prythee, peace!-- VOT. Can make her fit for lust. ANS. Yet again, sir? Where lives that mistress of thine, Votarius? That taught thee to dissemble: I'd fain learn. She makes good scholars. VOX. How, my lord! ANS. Thou art the son of falsehood: prythee, leave me. How truly constant, charitable and helpful Is woman unto woman in affairs, That touch affection and the peace of spirit! But man to man how crooked and unkind! I thank my jealousy, I heard thee all, For I heard nothing: now thou'rt sure I did. VOT. Now, by this light, then, wipe but off this score, Since you're so bent, and if I ever run In debt again to falsehood and dissemblance, For want of better means, tear the remembrance of me From your best thoughts.