_Enter_ ZUCCONE, _pursued by_ ZOYA, _on her knees attended by Ladies_. _Zuc._ I will have no mercy, I will not relent;--Justice' beard is shaven, and it shall give thee no hold. I am separated, and I will be separated. _Zoy._ Dear my lord, husband! _Zuc._ Hence, creature! I am none of thy husband, or father of thy bastard. No, I will be tyrannous, and a most deep revenger: the order shall stand. Ha, thou quean, I ha' no wife now! 303 _Zoy._ Sweet my lord! _Zuc._ Hence! avaunt! I will marry a woman with no womb,--a creature with two noses,--a wench with no hair,--rather than remarry thee! Nay, I will first marry,--mark me, I will first marry,--observe me, I will rather marry a woman that with thirst drinks the blood of man! nay, heed me, a woman that will thrust in crowds,--a lady, that, being with child, ventures the hope of her womb,--nay, gives two crowns for a room to behold a goodly man[247] three parts alive quartered, his privities hackled off, his belly lanch'd[248] up! Nay, I'll rather marry a woman to whom these smoking, hideous, bloodful, horrid, tho' most just spectacles, are very lust, rather than reaccept thee. Was I not a handsome fellow, from my foot to my feather? Had I not wit?--nay, which is more, was I not a Don, and didst thou Acteon me? Did I not make thee a lady? 320 _Herc._ And did she not make you a more worshipful thing,--a cuckold! _Zuc._ I married thee in hope of children. _Herc._ And has not she showed herself fruitful that was got with child without help of her husband? _Zuc._ Ha, thou ungrateful, immodest, unwise, and one[249] that, God's my witness, I ha' lov'd! But, go thy ways; twist with whom thou wilt: for my part, tha'st spun a fair thread;--who'll kiss thee now,--who'll court thee now,--who'll ha' thee now? 330 _Zoy._ Pity the frailty of my sex, sweet lord. _Zuc._ No; pity is a fool, and I will not wear his[250] coxcomb. I have vowed to loathe thee. The Irishman shall hate _aqua vitae_,--the Welshman cheese,--the Dutchman shall loath salt butter,--before I relove thee. Does the babe pule? Thou shouldst ha' cried before, 'tis too late now. No, the trees in autumn shall sooner call back the spring with shedding of their leaves, than thou reverse my just, irrevocable hatred with thy tears. Away! go! vaunt! 340 [_Exeunt_ ZOYA _and the Ladies_.