_Wife._ Ay, George, but it is well as it is. I warrant you the gentlemen do consider what it is to overthrow a giant. But look, George, here comes Mistress Merry-thought, and her son Michael. Now you are welcome, Mistress Merry-thought; now Ralph has done, you may go on. _Enter_ MISTRESS MERRY-THOUGHT _and_ MICHAEL. _Mist. Mer._ Mick, my boy. _Mick._ Ay forsooth, mother. _Mist. Mer._ Be merry, Mick, we are at home now, where I warrant you, you shall find the house flung out of the windows. Hark! hey dogs, hey, this is the old world i'faith with my husband. I'll get in among them, I'll play them such lesson, that they shall have little list to come scraping hither again. Why, Master Merry-thought, husband, Charles Merry-thought! _Old Mer._ [within.] "If you will sing and dance and laugh, And holloa, and laugh again; And then cry, there boys, there; why then, One, two, three, and four, We shall be merry within this hour." _Mist. Mer._ Why, Charles, do you not know your own natural wife? I say, open the door, and turn me out those mangy companions; 'tis more than time that they were fellow like with you. You are a gentleman, Charles, and an old man, and father of two children; and I myself, though I say it, by my mother's side, niece to a worshipful gentleman, and a conductor; he has been three times in his Majesty's service at Chester, and is now the fourth time, God bless him, and his charge upon his journey. _Old Mer._ "Go from my window, love, go; Go from my window, my dear, The wind and the rain will drive you back again, You cannot be lodgéd here." Hark you, Mistress Merry-thought, you that walk upon adventures, and forsake your husband because he sings with never a penny in his purse; what, shall I think myself the worse? Faith no, I'll be merry. You come not here, here's none but lads of mettle, lives of a hundred years and upwards; care never drunk their bloods, nor want made them warble, "Heigh-ho, my heart is heavy." _Mist. Mer._ Why, Master Merry-thought, what am I that you should laugh me to scorn thus abruptly? Am I not your fellow-feeler, as we may say, in all our miseries? your comforter in health and sickness? Have I not brought you children? Are they not like you, Charles? Look upon thine own image, hard-hearted man; and yet for all this---- _Old Mer._ [within.] "Begone, begone, my juggy, my puggy, Begone, my love, my dear; The weather is warm, 'Twill do thee no harm, Thou canst not be lodged here." Be merry, boys, some light music, and more wine. _Wife._ He's not in earnest, I hope, George, is he? _Cit._ What if he be, sweetheart? _Wife._ Marry if he be, George, I'll make bold to tell him he's an ingrant old man to use his wife so scurvily. _Cit._ What, how does he use her, honey?