A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. IX | Page 4

To hinder her of
some appointed guests, That in my absence revel in my house: She

weeps to see me in her company, And, were I absent, she would laugh
with joy. She weeps to make me weary of the house, Knowing my
heart cannot away with grief.
MRS ART. Knew I that mirth would make you love my bed, I would
enforce my heart to be more merry.
Y. ART. Do you not hear? she would enforce her heart! All mirth is
forc'd, that she can make with me.
Y. LUS. O misconceit, how bitter is thy taste! Sweet Master Arthur,
Mistress Arthur too, Let me entreat you reconcile these jars, Odious to
heaven, and most abhorr'd of men.
MRS ART. You are a stranger, sir; but by your words You do appear
an honest gentleman. If you profess to be my husband's friend, Persist
in these persuasions, and be judge With all indifference in these
discontents. Sweet husband, if I be not fair enough To please your eye,
range where you list abroad, Only, at coming home, speak me but fair:
If you delight to change, change when you please, So that you will not
change your love to me. If you delight to see me drudge and toil, I'll be
your drudge, because 'tis your delight. Or if you think me unworthy of
the name Of your chaste wife, I will become your maid, Your slave,
your servant--anything you will, If for that name of servant and of slave
You will but smile upon me now and then. Or if, as I well think, you
cannot love me, Love where you list, only but say you love me: I'll feed
on shadows, let the substance go. Will you deny me such a small
request? What, will you neither love nor flatter me? O, then I see your
hate here doth but wound me, And with that hate it is your frowns
confound me.
Y. LUS. Wonder of women! why, hark you, Master Arthur! What is
your wife, a woman or a saint? A wife or some bright angel come from
heav'n? Are you not mov'd at this strange spectacle? This day I have
beheld a miracle. When I attempt this sacred nuptial life, I beg of
heaven to find me such a wife.
Y. ART. Ha, ha! a miracle, a prodigy! To see a woman weep is as

much pity As to see foxes digg'd out of their holes. If thou wilt pleasure
me, let me see thee less; Grieve much; they say grief often shortens life:
Come not too near me, till I call thee, wife; And that will be but seldom.
I will tell thee, How thou shalt win my heart--die suddenly, And I'll
become a lusty widower: The longer thy life lasts, the more my hate
And loathing still increaseth towards thee. When I come home and find
thee cold as earth, Then will I love thee: thus thou know'st my mind.
Come, Master Lusam, let us in to dine.
Y. LUS. O, sir, you too much affect this evil; Poor saint! why wert thou
yok'd thus with a devil? [Aside.
[Exeunt Y. ART. and Y. LUS.
MRS ART. If thou wilt win my heart, die suddenly! But that my soul
was bought at such a rate, At such a high price as my Saviour's blood, I
would not stick to lose it with a stab; But, virtue, banish all such
fantasies. He is my husband, and I love him well; Next to my own
soul's health I tender him, And would give all the pleasures of the
world To buy his love, if I might purchase it. I'll follow him, and like a
servant wait, And strive by all means to prevent his hate. [Exit.
Enter OLD MASTER ARTHUR and OLD MASTER LUSAM.
O. ART. This is my son's house; were it best go in? How say you,
Master Lusam?
O. LUS. How? Go in? How say you, sir?
O. ART. I say 'tis best.
O. LUS. Ay, sir, say you so? so say I too.
O. ART. Nay, nay, it is not best; I'll tell you why. Haply the fire of hate
is quite extinct From the dead embers; now to rake them up, Should the
least spark of discontent appear, To make the flame of hatred burn
afresh, The heat of this dissension might scorch us; Which, in his own
cold ashes smother'd up, May die in silence, and revive no more: And

therefore tell me, is it best or no?
O. LUS. How say you, sir?
O. ART. I say it is not best.
O. LUS. Mass, you say well, sir, and so say I too.
O. ART. But shall we lose our labour to come hither, And, without
sight of our two