_Lop._ And dar'st thou Be so far good, and Mistriss of thine honor, To slight these? _Isab._ For my Husband's sake to curse 'em, And since you have made me Mistriss of my fortune, Never to point at any joy, but Husband, I could have cozen'd ye, but so much I love ye, And now so much I weigh the estimation Of an unspotted wife-- _Lop._ I dare believe thee, And never more shall doubt torment my spirit. _Enter_ Penurio. _Isab._ How now _Penurio_? _Pen._ The thing is comming, Mistriss. _Lop._ I'll take my standing. _Pen._ Do, and I'll take mine. [_Exit_ Lopez. _Isab._ Where didst thou leave him? _Pen._ I left him in a Cellar, Where he has paid me titely, paid me home Mistriss, We had an hundred and fifty healths to you, sweet Mistriss, And threescore and ten damnations to my Master; Mistriss, shall I speak a foolish word to ye? _Isab._ What's that _Penurio_? The fellow's drunk. _Pen._ I would fain know your body. _Isab._ How's that? how's that prethee? _Pen._ I would know it carnally, I would conglutinate. _Isab._ The reason sirrah? _Pen._ Lobster, sweet Mistriss, Lobster. _Isab._ Thy Master hears. _Pen._ Lobster, sweet Master, Lobster. _Isab._ Thou art the most pretious rogue. _Enter_ Claudio. _Pen._ Most pretious Lobster. _Isab._ Do you see who's here? go sleep ye drunken rascal. _Pen._ Remember you refuse me arm'd in Lobster. [_Exit._ _Isab._ Oh my lost _Rugio_, welcome, welcome, welcome, A thousand welcomes here I'll seal. _Cla._ Pray ye stay, Lady, Do you love me ever at this rate? or is the fit now, By reason of some wrong done by your Husband, More fervent on ye? _Isab._ Can I chuse but love thee? Thou art my Martyr, thou hast suffered for me, My sweet, sweet _Rugio_. _Cla._ Do you do this seriously? 'Tis true, I would be entertained thus. _Isab._ These are nothing, No kisses, no embraces, no endearments, To those-- _Cla._ Do what you will. _Isab._ Those that shall follow, Those I will crown our love withal; why sigh ye? Why look ye sad my dear one? _Cla._ Nay, faith nothing, But methinks so sweet a beauty, as yours shews to me, And such an innocence as you may make it, Should hold a longer Siege. _Isab._ Ha, you speak truth, Sir. _Cla._ I would not have it so. _Isab._ And now methinks, Now I consider truly what becomes me, I have been cozen'd, fearfully abus'd, My reason blinded. _Cla._ Nay, I did but jest with ye. _Isab._ I'll take ye at your word, and thank ye for't Sir; And now I see no sweetness in that person, Nothing to stir me to abuse a Husband, To ruine my fair fame. _Cla._ Good _Isabella_.