WID. Yes, sir, but I was not robbed of it. _Enter_ JOAN _with a fish_. CLOWN. No! well, thank him that brings it home then, and will ask nothing for his pains. You see this salmon? WID. Yes, what of it? CLOWN. It cost but sixpence: but had the fisher known the worth of it, 'twould have cost you forty shillings. Is not this your ring? WID. The very same. CLOWN. Your maid Joan, examining this salmon, that she bought in the market, found that he had swallowed this gudgeon. WID. How am I vex'd with blessings! how think you, sir, Is not this above wonder? DOC. I am amaz'd at it. WID. First, that this fish should snatch it as a bait; Then that my servant needs must buy that fish 'Mongst such infinities of fish and buyers: What fate is mine that runs all by itself In unhappy happiness? My conscience dreads it. Would thou hadst not swallowed it, or thou not bought it. CLOWN. Alas! blame not the poor fish, mistress: he, being a phlegmatic creature, took gold for restorative.[59] He took it fair; and he that gets gold, let him eat gold. WID. Nothing can hinder fate. DOC. Seek not to cross it, then. WID. [_To_ JOAN.] About your business! you have not pleased me in this. JOAN. By my maidenhead! if I had thought you would have ta'en it no kindlier, you should ne'er have been vexed with the sight on't; the garbage should have been the cook's fees at this time. [_Exit_ JOAN. CLOWN. Now do I see the old proverb come to pass--_Give a woman luck, and cast her into the sea_: there's many a man would wish his wife good luck on that condition he might throw her away so. But, mistress, there's one within would speak with you, that vexeth as fast against crosses as you do against good luck. WID. I know her sure, then; 'tis my gossip Foster. Request her in; here's good company, tell her. CLOWN. I'll tell her so for my own credit's sake. [_Exit._ WID. Yon shall now see an absolute contrary: Would I had chang'd bosoms with her for a time! 'Twould make me better relish happiness. _Enter_ MISTRESS FOSTER _and_ CLOWN. MRS FOS. O friend and gossip, where are you? I am O'erladen with my griefs, and but in your bosom I know not where to ease me. CLOWN. I had rather Help you to a close-stool, an't please you. [_Aside._ MRS FOS. Ne'er had woman more sinister fate; All ominous stars were in conjunction Even at my birth, and do still attend me. DOC. This is a perfect contrary indeed. WID. What ails you, woman? MRS FOS. Unless seven witches had set spells about me, I could not be so cross'd; never at quiet, Never a happy hour, not a minute's content. DOC. You hurt yourself most with impatience.