_2 Watch._ The Devil take the hinmost, I cry. [_Exit Watch running._ _Enter_ Petruchio _with a Piece._ _Petru._ Have among ye; The door shall open too, I'll have a fair shoot; Are ye all gone? tricks in my old dayes, crackers Put now upon me? and, by Lady _Green-sleeves_? Am I grown so tame after all my triumphs? But that I should be thought mad, if I rail'd, As much as they deserve, against these Women, I would now rip up, from the primitive Cuckold, All their arch-villanies, and all their doubles, Which are more than a hunted Hare ere thought on: When a Man has the fairest, and the sweetest Of all their Sex, and as he thinks the noblest, What has he then? and I'll speak modestly, He has a Quartern-ague, that shall shake All his estate to nothing; never cur'd, Nor never dying; He'as a ship to venture His fame, and credit in, which if he Man not With more continual labour than a Gally To make her tith, either she grows a Tumbrel, Not worth the Cloth she wears; or springs more leakes Than all the fame of his posterity Can ever stop again: I could raile twenty dayes; Out on 'em, Hedge-hogs, He that shall touch 'em, has a thousand thorns Runs through his fingers: If I were unmarried, I would do any thing below repentance, Any base dunghill slavery; be a Hang-man, Ere I would be a Husband: O the thousand, Thousand, ten thousand wayes they have to kill us! Some fall with t[o]o much stringing of the Fiddles, And those are fools; some, that they are not suffer'd, And those are Maudlin-lovers: some, like Scorpions, They poyson with their tails, and those are Martyrs; Some dye with doing good, those Benefactors, And leave 'em land to leap away: some few, For those are rarest, they are said to kill With kindness, and fair usage; but what they are My Catalogue discovers not: only 'tis thought They are buried in old Walls, with their heels upward. I could raile twenty dayes together now. I'll seek 'em out, and if I have not reason, And very sensible, why this was done, I'll go a birding yet, and some shall smart for't. [_Exit._ _Actus Quartus. Scaena Prima._ _Enter_ Moroso _and_ Petronius. _Mor._ That I do love her, is without all question, And most extremely, dearly, most exactly; And that I would ev'n now, this present Monday, Before all others, Maids, Wives, Women, Widows, Of what degree or calling, Marry her, As certain too; but to be made a Whim-wham, A Jib-crack, and a Gentleman o'th first house For all my kindness to her. _Petron._ How you take it? Thou get a Wench, thou get a dozen night-caps? Wouldst have her come, and lick thee like a Calfe, And blow thy nose, and buss thee? _Mor._ Not so neither. _Petron._ What wouldst thou have her do?