WIFE. If with any man-- But, prythee, first consider with thyself, If I should yield to thee, what a load thy conscience Would bear about it; for I wish quick thunder May strike me, if I yet have lost the truth, Or whiteness of the hand I gave in church: And 'twill not be thy happiness (as thou think'st) That thou alone shouldst make a woman fall, That did resist all else; but to thy soul A bitter corrosive, that thou didst stain Virtue that else had stood immaculate. Nor speak I this as yielding unto thee, For 'tis not in thy power, wert thou the sweet'st Of nature's children and the happiest, To conquer me, nor in mine own to yield; And thus it is with every pious wife. Thy daily railing at my absent husband Makes me endure thee worse; for let him do The most preposterous, ill-relishing things. To me they seem good, since my husband does 'em. Nor am I to revenge or govern him: And thus it should be with all virtuous wives. SUB. Pox o' this virtue and this chastity! Do you [not] know, fair mistress, a young gentleman About this town called Bold? Where did he lie Last night, sweet mistress? O, O! are you catch'd? I saw him slip out of the house this morn, As naked as this truth; and for this cause I have told your husband that you yielded to me, And he, I warrant you, will blaze it thoroughly. As good do now, then, as be thought to do. WIFE. No, 'twill not be yet. Thou injurious man! How wilt thou right me in my husband's thoughts, That on a false surmise and spite hast told A tale to breed incurable discontent? Bold was that old wench that did serve the widow, And thinking by this way to gain her love, Miss'd of his purpose, and was thus cashier'd; Nor cares she to proclaim it to the world. SUB. Zounds! I have wrong'd you, mistress, on my knees [_Kneels._ I ask you pardon, and will nevermore Attempt your purity, but neglect all things Till that foul wrong I have bred in your knight I have expell'd, and set your loves aright. _Enter_ HUSBAND. HUS. Which now is done already. Madam, wife, [_Kneels._ Upon my knees with weeping eyes, heav'd hands, I ask thy pardon. O sweet, virtuous creature! I prythee, break my head. WIFE. Rise, rise, sir, pray. You have done no wrong to me--at least, I think so: Heaven hath prevented all my injury. I do forgive, and marry you anew. Come, we are all invited to the weddings: The Lady Honour and the old rich Count, Young Bold unto another gentlewoman: We and the widow are invited thither. Embrace and love henceforth more really, Not so like worldlings. HUS. Here then ends all strife. Thus false friends are made true by a true wife. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II.[135]