_Drawers._ _Servants_. _WOMEN._ Frank, _Sister to_ Frederick, _a Lady passionately in love with_ Jacomo. Cl[o]ra, _Sister to_ Fabritio, _a witty companion to_ Frank. Lelia, _a cunning wanton Widow_. _Waiting-woman._ _Maid Servants._ * * * * * _The Scene_ Venice, Spain. * * * * * The principal Actors were, _Richard Burbadge._ _Henry Condel._ _William Ostler._ _Alexander Cooke._ _Actus Primus. Scena Prima._ _Enter_ Lodovico, _and_ Piso. _Lodovico._ The truth is, _Piso_, so she be a woman And rich and wholsome, let her be of what Condition and Complexion it please, She shall please me I am sure; Those men are fools That make their eyes their choosers, not their needs. _Piso._ Me thinks I would have her honest too, and handsom. _Lod._ Yes if I could have both, but since they are Wishes so near impossibilities, Let me have that that may be. _Piso._ If it were so, I hope your conscience would not be so nice To start at such a blessing. _Lod._ No believe me, I do not think I should. _Piso._ But thou would'st be I do not doubt upon the least suspicion Unmercifully jealous. _Lod._ No I should not, For I believe those mad that seek vexations. A Wife, though she be honest, is a trouble, Had I a Wife as fair as _Hellen_ was That drew so many Cuckolds to her cause, These eyes should see another in my Saddle Ere I believe my beast would carry double. _Piso._ So should not I by'our Lady, and I think My patience (by your leave) as good as yours, Report would stir me mainly, I am sure on't. _Lod._ Report? You are unwise; report is nothing; For if there were a truth in what men talk, I mean of this kind, this part of the world I am sure would be no more call'd _Christendom_. _Piso._ What then? _Lod._ Why _Cuckoldom_, for we should lose Our old faiths clean, and hold their new opinions: If talk could make me sweat, before I would marry I'd tie a surer knot, and hang my self; I tell thee there was never woman yet, (Nor never hope there shall be) though a Saint, But she has been a subject to mens tongues, And in the worse sense: and that desperate Husband, That dares give up his peace, and follow humours (Which he shall find too busie, if he seek 'em) Besides the forcing of himself an Ass He dyes in chains, eating himself with anger. _Piso._ Having these Antidotes against opinion I would marry any one; an arrant Whore. _Lod._ Thou dost not feel the nature of this Physick Which I prescribe not to beget diseases, But where they are, to stop them. _Piso._ I conceive ye: What thinkest thou, thy way, of the widow _Lelia_?