_Rom._ Ist possible? farewell, fine, honest man, Sweet temper’d Lord adieu: what Apoplexy Hath knit fence vp? Is this _Romonts_ reward? Beare witnes the great spirit of my father, 460 With what a healthfull hope I administer This potion that hath wrought so virulently, I not accuse thy wife of act, but would Preuent her _Praecipuce_, to thy dishonour, Which now thy tardy sluggishnesse will admit. 465 Would I had seene thee grau’d with thy great Sire, Ere liue to haue mens marginall fingers point At Charaloys, as a lamented story. An Emperour put away his wife for touching Another man, but thou wouldst haue thine tasted 470 And keepe her (I thinke.) Puffe. I am a fire To warme a dead man, that waste out myselfe. Bleed--what a plague, a vengeance i’st to mee, If you will be a Cuckold? Heere I shew A swords point to thee, this side you may shun, 475 Or that: the perrill, if you will runne on, I cannot helpe it. _Cha._ Didst thou neuer see me Angry, _Romont_? _Rom._ Yes, and pursue a foe Like lightening _Char._ Prethee see me so no more. I can be so againe. Put vp thy sword, 480 And take thy selfe away, lest I draw mine. _Rom._ Come fright your foes with this: sir, I am your friend, And dare stand by you thus. _Char._ Thou art not my friend, Or being so, thou art mad, I must not buy Thy friendship at this rate; had I iust cause, 485 Thou knowst I durst pursue such iniury Through fire, ayre, water, earth, nay, were they all Shuffled againe to _Chaos_, but ther’s none. Thy skill, _Romont_, consists in camps, not courts. Farewell, vnciuill man, let’s meet no more. 490 Heere our long web of friendship I vntwist. Shall I goe whine, walke pale, and locke my wife For nothing, from her births free liberty, That open’d mine to me? yes; if I doe The name of cuckold then, dog me with scorne. 495 I am a _Frenchman_, no _Italian_ borne. _Exit._ _Rom._ A dull _Dutch_ rather: fall and coole (my blood) Boyle not in zeal of thy friends hurt, so high, That is so low, and cold himselfe in’t. Woman, How strong art thou, how easily beguild? 500 How thou dost racke vs by the very hornes? Now wealth I see change manners and the man: Something I must doe mine owne wrath to asswage, And note my friendship to an after-age. _Exit._ _Actus quartus._ _Scaena prima._ [_A Room in Nouall’s House_] _Enter Nouall Iunior, as newly dressed, a Taylor, Barber, Perfumer, Liladam, Aymour, Page._ _Nou._ Mend this a little: pox! thou hast burnt me. oh fie vpon’t, O Lard, hee has made me smell (for all the world) like a flaxe, or a red headed womans chamber: powder, powder, powder.