+Mis. Sea.+ Sir, you are not merry: Methinks you do not look as you were married. +Mis. Hol.+ You rather look as you had lost your love. +Mis. Scr.+ Or else, as if your spouse, sir, had rebuk'd you. +Sea.+ How is it, sir? You see I have brought along My fiddlers with me; my wife and Mistress Holland Are good wind-instruments. 'Tis enough for me To put on sadness. +Ware.+ You, sir, have no cause. +Sea.+ Not I! Ask Mistress Scruple. I have lost My daughter, sir: she's stol'n. Then, sir, I have A spendthrift to my son. +Ware.+ These are felicities Compar'd to me. You have not match'd a whore, sir, Nor lost two ships at sea. +Sea.+ Nor you, I hope? +Ware.+ Truth is, you are my friends; I am abus'd, Grossly fetch'd over. I have match'd a stew, The notedst woman o' th' town. +Mis. Sea.+ Indeed, I heard She was a chambermaid. +Mis. Hol.+ And they by their place Do wait upon the lady, but belong Unto the lord. +Sea.+ But is this true? +Ware.+ Here was My nephew just now, and one Roseclap, who tell me She has three children living; one dapple-grey, Half Moor, half English: knows as many men As she that sinned by th' calendar, and divided The nights o' th' year with several men. +Sea.+ Bless me, goodness! +Ware.+ Then, like a man condemned to all misfortunes, I have estated her in all I have. +Sea.+ How! +Ware.+ Under hand and seal, sir, irrecoverably. SCENE VI. _Enter +Salewit+._ +Mis. Hol.+ Look, Mistress Scruple, here's your husband. +Sale.+ Be the leave of the fair companée. +Mis. Scr.+ My husband! His cold keeps him at home. Surely I take This to be some Dutch elder. +Sale.+ Where is The breed an breedgroom? O monsieur, I'm com't To give you zhoy, and bless your capòn; where Is your fair breed? +Ware.+ O Monsieur, you have join'd me To a chaste virgin. Would, when I came to you, Y' had used your ceremonies about my funeral. +Sale.+ Fooneral? Is your breed dead? +Ware.+ Would she were, I'd double your fee, Monsieur, to bury her. +Sale.+ Ee can but leetle English. +Ware.+ No, I see you are but new come over. +Sale.+ Dover! Tere Ee landed. +Ware.+ Ay, sir, pray walk in; that door Will land you in my dining-room. +Sale.+ Ee tank you. [_Exit._ +Ware.+ This is the priest that married us. +Sea.+ This is a Frenchman, is't not? +Ware.+ 'Twas at the French church. SCENE VII. _Enter two +Footmen+, bearing the frame of a great picture. Curtains drawn._ +1st Foot.+ Set 'em down gently; so. +2d Foot.+ They make me sweat. Pictures, quoth you; 'slight, they have weight enough To be the parties. +1st Foot.+ My lady, sir, has sent A present to your wife.