_Nym._ Why, thou woman's fool? _Zuc._ Good gentlemen, let one die but once. _Herod._ Was not thou most curstfully mad to sever thyself from such an unequall'd rarity? 450 _Zuc._ Is she not a strumpet? Is she not with child? _Nym._ Yes, with feathers. _Herc._ Why, weakness of reason, couldst not perceive all was feign'd to be rid of thee? _Zuc._ Of me? _Nym._ She with child? Untrodden snow is not so spotless! _Herod._ Chaste as the first voice of a new-born infant! _Herc._ Know, she grew loathing of thy jealousy! _Nym._ Thy most pernicious curiosity. 460 _Herc._ Whose suspicions made her inimitable graces motive of thy base jealousy. _Herod._ Why, beast of man! _Nym._ Wretched above expression! that snored'st over a beauty which thousands desired!--neglectedst[259] her bed, for whose enjoying a very saint would have sued! _Herc._ Defamed her! _Herod._ Suggested privily against her! _Nym._ Gave foul language publicly of her! 469 _Herc._ And now, lastly, done that for her which she only pray'd for, and wish'd as wholesome air for, namely, to be rid from such an unworthy-- _Herod._ Senseless-- _Nym._ Injurious-- _Herc._ Malicious-- _Herod._ Suspicious-- _Nym._ Misshaped-- _Herc._ Ill-languaged-- _Herod._ Unworthy-- _Nym._ Ridiculous-- 480 _Herc._ Jealous-- _Herod._ Arch coxcomb as thou art! [_Exeunt_ NYMPHADORO _and_ HEROD. _Zuc._ O I am sick!--my blood has the cramp! my stomach o'erturns!--O I am very sick! _Herc._ Why, my sweet Don, you are no cuckold! _Zuc._[260] That's the grief on't. _Herc._ That's---- _Zuc._ That I ha' wrong'd so sweet (and now, in my knowledge), so delicate a creature! O methinks I embrace her yet! 490 _Herc._ Alas! my lord, you have done her no wrong--no wrong in the world; you have done her a pleasure--a great pleasure! A thousand gentlemen--nay, dukes--will be proud to accept your leavings--your leavings! Now is she courted! This heir sends her jewels, that lord proffers her jointures, t'other knight proclaims challenges to maintain her the only not beautiful, but very beauty of women. _Zuc._ But I shall never embrace her more! 499 _Herc._ Nay, that's true--that's most true. I would not afflict you, only think how unrelentless you were to her but supposed fault. _Zuc._ O! 'tis true--too true! _Herc._ Think how you scorn'd her tears! _Zuc._ Most right! _Herc._ Tears that were only shed (I would not vex you) in very grief to see you covet your own shame! _Zuc._ Too true--too true! _Herc._ For, indeed, she is the sweetest modest soul, the fullest of pity! 510 _Zuc._ O[261] ay! O ay!