_Arte._ Doat on, to the extremity, and you are happy. _Dor._ He deserves so infinitely much, that, the truth is, there can be no doating in the matter; but, to love well, I confess, is a work that pays itself: 'Tis telling gold, and, after, taking it for one's pains. _Rho._ By that I should be a very covetous person; for I am ever pulling out my money, and putting it into my pocket again. _Dor._ O dear Rhodophil! _Rho._ O sweet Doralice! [_Embracing each other._ _Arte._ [_Aside._] Nay, I am resolved, I'll never interrupt lovers: I'll leave them as happy as I found them. [_Steals away._ _Rho._ What, is she gone? [_Looking up._ _Dor._ Yes; and without taking leave. _Rho._ Then there's enough for this time. [_Parting from her._ _Dor._ Yes, sure, the scene is done, I take it. _They walk contrary ways on the stage; he, with his hands in his pockets, whistling; she singing a dull melancholy tune._ _Rho._ Pox o'your dull tune, a man can't think for you. _Dor._ Pox o'your damned whistling; you can neither be company to me yourself, nor leave me to the freedom of my own fancy. _Rho._ Well, thou art the most provoking wife! _Dor._ Well, thou art the dullest husband, thou art never to be provoked. _Rho._ I was never thought dull till I married thee; and now thou hast made an old knife of me; thou hast whetted me so long, till I have no edge left. _Dor._ I see you are in the husband's fashion; you reserve all your good humours for your mistresses, and keep your ill for your wives. _Rho._ Prythee leave me to my own cogitations; I am thinking over all my sins, to find for which of them it was I married thee. _Dor._ Whatever your sin was, mine's the punishment. _Rho._ My comfort is, thou art not immortal; and, when that blessed, that divine day comes of thy departure, I'm resolved I'll make one holiday more in the almanack for thy sake. _Dor._ Ay, you had need make a holiday for me, for I am sure you have made me a martyr. _Rho._ Then, setting my victorious foot upon thy head, in the first hour of thy silence, (that is, the first hour thou art dead, for I despair of it before) I will swear by thy ghost,--an oath as terrible to me as Styx is to the gods,--never more to be in danger of the banes of matrimony. _Dor._ And I am resolved to marry the very same day thou diest, if it be but to show how little I'm concerned for thee. _Rho._ Pray thee, Doralice, why do we quarrel thus a-days? ha! this is but a kind of heathenish life, and does not answer the ends of marriage. If I have erred, propound what reasonable atonement may be made before we sleep, and I will not be refractory; but withal consider, I have been married these three years, and be not too tyrannical. _Dor._ What should you talk of a peace a-bed, when you can give no security for performance of articles?