[71] Neither of the old editions has a list of characters prefixed. AMENDS FOR LADIES. ACT I., SCENE 1. _Enter the_ LADY HONOUR, _the_ LADY PERFECT, _the_ LADY BRIGHT. MAID.[72] A wife the happiest state? It cannot be. WIFE. Yes, such a wife as I, that have a man As if myself had made him: such a one As I may justly say, I am the rib Belonging to his breast. Widow and maid, Your lives compared to mine are miserable, Though wealth and beauty meet in each of you. Poor virgin, all thy sport is thought of love And meditation of a man; the time And circumstance, ere thou canst fix thy thoughts On one thy fancy will approve. MAID. That trouble Already may be pass'd. WIFE. Why, if it be, The doubt he will not hold his brittle faith, That he is not a competible choice, And so your noble friends will cross the match, Doth make your happiness uncertain still; Or say, you married him? what he would prove. Can you compare your state, then, to a wife? MAID. Nay, all the freedom that a virgin hath Is much to be preferr'd. Who would endure The humours of so insolent[73] a thing As is a husband? Which of all the herd Runs not possess'd with some notorious vice, Drinking or whoring, fighting, jealousy, Even of a page at twelve or of a groom That rubs horse-heels? Is it not daily seen, Men take wives but to dress their meat, to wash And starch their linen: for the other matter Of lying with them, that's but when they please: And whatsoe'er the joy be of the bed, The pangs that follow procreation Are hideous, or you wives have gull'd your husbands With your loud shriekings and your deathful throes. A wife or widow to a virgin's life! WID. Why should the best of you think ye enjoy The roost[74] and rule, that a free widow doth? I am mine own commander, and the bliss Of wooers and of each variety Frequents me, as I were a maid. No brother Have I to dice my patrimony away, as you, My maiden-madam, may. No husband's death Stand I in doubt on; for thanks be to heaven, If mine were good, the grievous loss of him Is not to come; if he were bad, he's gone, And I no more embrace my injury. But be yours ill, you nightly clasp your hate; Or good--why, he may die or change his virtue. And thou, though single, hast a bed-fellow As bad as the worst husband--thought of one; And what that is men with their wives do do, And long expectance till the deed be done. A wife is like a garment us'd and torn: A maid like one made up, but never worn.