SAM. And I think she was blest in her Cradle, that he never came in her bed; why, he has consumed all, pawnd his lands, and made his university brother stand in wax for him—There’s a fine phrase for a scrivener! puh, he owes more then his skin’s worth. OLIVER. Is’t possible? SAM. Nay, I’ll tell you moreover, he calls his wife whore as familiarly as one would call Mal and Dol, and his children bastards as naturally as can be.—But what have we here? I thought twas somewhat puld down my breeches: I quite forgot my two potingsticks. These came from London; now any thing is good here that comes from London. OLIVER. Aye, far fetcht you know. SAM. But speak in your conscience, yfaith, have not we as good Potingsticks ith Country as need to be put ith fire. The mind of a thing’s all, and as thou saidst e’en now, far fetcht is the best things for Ladies. OLIVER. Aye, and for waiting gentle women too. SAM. But, Ralph, what, is our beer sower this thunder? OLIVER. No, no, it holds countenance yet. SAM. Why, then, follow me; I’ll teach you the finest humor to be drunk in’t; they call it knighting in London, when they drink upon their knees. AMBO. Faith, that’s excellent. Come, follow me: I’ll give you all the degrees ont in order. [Exeunt.] SCENE II. Another apartment in the same. WIFE. What will become of us? all will away. My husband never ceases in expense, Both to consume his credit and his house; And tis set down by heaven’s just decree, That Riot’s child must needs be beggery. Are these the vertues that his you did promise? Dice, and voluptuous meetings, midnight Revels, Taking his bed with surfetts: Ill beseeming The ancient honor of his house and name! And this not all: but that which kills me most, When he recounts his Losses and false fortunes, The weakness of his state so much dejected, Not as a man repentant, but half mad, His fortunes cannot answer his expense: He sits and sullenly locks up his Arms, Forgetting heaven looks downward, which makes him Appear so dreadful that he frights my heart, Walks heavily, as if his soul were earth: Not penitent for those his sins are past, But vext his money cannot make them last:— A fearful melancholy, ungodly sorrow. Oh yonder he comes, now in despite of ills I’ll speak to him, and I will hear him speak, And do my best to drive it from his heart. [Enter Husband.] HUSBAND. Pox oth Last throw! it made Five hundred Angels vanish from my sight. I’m damnd, I’m damnd: the Angels have forsook me. Nay, tis certainly true: for he that has No coin is damnd in this world: he’s gone, he’s gone. WIFE. Dear husband. HUSBAND. Oh! most punishment of all, I have a wife. WIFE. I do intreat you as you love your soul, Tell me the cause of this your discontent. HUSBAND. A vengeance strip thee naked! thou art cause, Effect, quality, property, thou, thou, thou! [Exit.]