Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 -- Spurious and doubtful works; Tragedies (Drama); Yorkshire (England) -- Drama
WIFE.
Bad, turnd to worse! both beggery of the soul,
As of the body. And so much unlike
Him self at first, as if some vexed spirit
Had got his form upon him.—
[Enter Husband again.]
He comes again.
He says I am the cause; I never yet
Spoke less then words of duty, and of love.
HUSBAND.
If marriage be honourable, then Cuckolds are honourable, for
they cannot be made without marriage. Fool! what meant I to
marry to get beggars? now must my eldest son be a knave or
nothing; he cannot live uppot’h fool, for he will have no
land to maintain him: that mortgage sits like a snaffle upon
mine inheritance, and makes me chaw upon Iron. My second
son must be a promoter, and my third a thief, or an underputter,
a slave pander.
Oh beggery, beggery, to what base uses dost thou put a man!
I think the Devil scorns to be a bawd. He bears himself more
proudly, has more care on’s credit. Base, slavish, abject,
filthy poverty!
WIFE.
Good sir, by all our vows I do beseech you,
Show me the true cause of your discontent.
HUSBAND.
Money, money, money, and thou must supply me.
WIFE.
Alas, I am the lest cause of your discontent,
Yet what is mine, either in rings or Jewels,
Use to your own desire, but I beseech you,
As y’are a gentleman by many bloods,
Though I my self be out of your respect,
Think on the state of these three lovely boys
You have been father to.
HUSBAND.
Puh! Bastards, bastards, bastards; begot in tricks, begot
in tricks.
WIFE.
Heaven knows how those words wrong me, but I may
Endure these griefs among a thousand more.
Oh, call to mind your lands already mortgage,
Your self wound with debts, your hopeful brother
At the university in bonds for you,
Like to be ceasd upon; And—
HUSBAND.
Ha done, thou harlot,
Whom, though for fashion sake I married,
I never could abide; thinkst thou thy words
Shall kill my pleasures? Fall off to thy friends,
Thou and thy bastards beg: I will not bate
A whit in humor! midnight, still I love you,
And revel in your Company. Curbd in,
Shall it be said in all societies,
That I broke custom, that I flagd in money?
No, those thy jewels I will play as freely
As when my state was fullest.
WIFE.
Be it so.
HUSBAND.
Nay I protest, and take that for an earnest,
[spurns her]
I will for ever hold thee in contempt,
And never touch the sheets that cover thee,
But be divorst in bed till thou consent,
Thy dowry shall be sold to give new life
Unto those pleasures which I most affect.
WIFE.
Sir, do but turn a gentle eye on me,
And what the law shall give me leave to do
You shall command.
HUSBAND.
Look it be done: shall I want dust and like a slave
Wear nothing in my pockets but my hands
To fill them up with nails?
[holding his hands in his pockets]
Oh much against my blood! Let it be done.
I was never made to be a looker on,
A bawd to dice; I’ll shake the drabs my self
And made em yield. I say, look it be done.
WIFE.
I take my leave: it shall.
[Exit.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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