William Shakespeare - The Complete Apocryphal Works of William Shakespeare - All 17 Rare Plays in One Edition

Oh much against my blood! Let it be done.

I was never made to be a looker on,

A bawd to dice; I’ll shake the drabs my self

And made em yield. I say, look it be done.

WIFE.

I take my leave: it shall.

[Exit.]

HUSBAND. Speedily, speedily. I hate the very hour I chose a wife: a trouble, trouble! three children like three evils hang upon me. Fie, fie, fie, strumpet and bastards, strumpet and bastards!

[Enter three Gentlemen hearing him.]

1 GENTLEMAN.

Still do those loathsome thoughts

Jar on your tongue?

Your self to stain the honour of your wife,

Nobly descended! Those whom men call mad

Endanger others; but he’s more than mad

That wounds himself, whose own words do proclaim

Scandals unjust, to soil his better name:

It is not fit; I pray, forsake it.

2 GENTLEMAN. Good sir, let modesty reprove you.

3 GENTLEMAN. Let honest kindness sway so much with you.

HUSBAND.

God den, I thank you, sir, how do you? adieu! I’m glad to

see you. Farewell

Instructions, Admonitions.

[Exeunt Gentlemen.]

[Enter a servant.]

HUSBAND.

How now, sirra; what would you?

SERVANT. Only to certify you, sir, that my mistress was met by the way, by them who were sent for her up to London by her honorable uncle, your worships late guardian.

HUSBAND. So, sir, then she is gone and so may you be: But let her look that the thing be done she wots of: or hell will stand more pleasant then her house at home.

[Exit servant.]

[Enter a Gentleman.]

GENTLEMAN.

Well or ill met, I care not.

HUSBAND.

No, nor I.

GENTLEMAN.

I am come with confidence to chide you.

HUSBAND.

Who? me?

Chide me? Doo’t finely then: let it not move me,

For if thou chidst me angry, I shall strike.

GENTLEMAN.

Strike thine own follies, for it is they deserve

To be well beaten. We are now in private:

There’s none but thou and I. Thou’rt fond and peevish,

An unclean rioter: thy lands and Credit

Lie now both sick of a consumption.

I am sorry for thee: that man spends with shame

That with his riches does consume his name:

And such thou art.

HUSBAND.

Peace.

GENTLEMAN.

No, thou shalt hear me further:

Thy fathers and forefathers worthy honors,

Which were our country monuments, our grace,

Follies in thee begin now to deface.

The spring time of thy youth did fairly promise

Such a most fruitful summer to thy friends

It scarce can enter into mens beliefs,

Such dearth should hang on thee. We that see it,

Are sorry to believe it: in thy change,

This voice into all places will be hurld:

Thou and the devil has deceived the world.

HUSBAND.

I’ll not indure thee.

GENTLEMAN.

But of all the worst:

Thy vertuous wife, right honourably allied,

Thou hast proclaimed a strumpet.

HUSBAND.

Nay, the, I know thee.

Thou art her champion, thou, her private friend,

The party you wot on.

GENTLEMAN.

Oh ignoble thought.

I am past my patient blood: shall I stand idle

And see my reputation toucht to death?

HUSBAND.

Ta’s galde you, this, has it?

GENTLEMAN.

No, monster, I will prove

My thoughts did only tend to vertuous love.

HUSBAND.

Love of her vertues? there it goes.

GENTLEMEN.

Base spirit,

To lay thy hate upon the fruitful Honor

Of thine own bed.

[They fight and the Husband’s hurt.]

HUSBAND.

Oh!

GENTLEMAN.

Woult thou yield it yet?

HUSBAND.

Sir, Sir, I have not done with you.

GENTLEMAN.

I hope nor nere shall do.

[Fight again.]

HUSBAND.

Have you got tricks? are you in cunning with me?

GENTLEMAN.

No, plain and right.

He needs no cunning that for truth doth fight.

[Husband falls down.]

HUSBAND.

Hard fortune, am I leveld with the ground?

GENTLEMAN.

Now, sir, you lie at mercy.

HUSBAND.

Aye, you slave.

GENTLEMAN.

Alas, that hate should bring us to our grave.

You see my sword’s not thirsty for your life,

I am sorrier for your wound then your self.

Y’are of a vertuous house, show vertuous deeds;

Tis not your honour, tis your folly bleeds;

Much good has been expected in your life,

Cancel not all men’s hopes: you have a wife

Kind and obedient: heap not wrongful shame

On her and your posterity, nor blame

Your overthrow; let only sin be sore,

And by this fall, rise never to fall more.

And so I leave you.

[Exit.]

HUSBAND

Has the dog left me, then,

After his tooth hath left me? oh, my heart

Would fain leap after him. Revenge, I say,

I’m mad to be reveng’d. My strumpet wife,

It is thy quarrel that rips thus my flesh,

And makes my breast spit blood, but thou shalt bleed.

Vanquisht? got down? unable e’en to speak?

Surely tis want of money makes men weak.

Aye, twas that orethrew me; I’d nere been down else.

[Exit.]

SCENE III. The same.

[Enter wife in a riding suit with a servingman.]

SERVINGMAN.

Faith, mistress, If it might not be presumption

In me to tell you so, for his excuse

You had small reason, knowing his abuse.

WIFE.

I grant I had; but, alas,

Why should our faults at home be spread abroad?

Tis grief enough within doors. At first sight

Mine Uncle could run o’er his prodigal life

As perfectly, as if his serious eye

Had numbered all his follies:

Knew of his mortgaged lands, his friends in bonds,

Himself withered with debts: And in that minute

Had I added his usage and unkindness,

Twould have confounded every thought of good:

Where now, fathering his riots on his youth,

Which time and tame experience will shake off,

Guessing his kindness to me (as I smoothd him

With all the skill I had) though his deserts

Are in form uglier then an unshaped Bear,

He’s ready to prefer him to some office

And place at Court, A good and sure relief

To all his stooping fortunes: twill be a means, I hope

To make new league between us, and redeem

His vertues with his lands.

SERVINGMAN. I should think so, mistress. If he should not now be kind to you and love you, and cherish you up, I should think the devil himself kept open house in him.

WIFE. I doubt not but he will now: prethe, leave me; I think I hear him coming.

SERVINGMAN.

I am gone.

[Exit.]

WIFE.

By this good means I shall preserve my lands,

And free my husband out of usurers hands:

Now there is no need of sale, my Uncle’s kind,

I hope, if ought, this will content his mind.—

Here comes my husband.

[Enter Husband.]

HUSBAND.

Now, are you come? where’s the money? let’s see the money.

Is the rubbish sold, those wiseakers your lands? why, when?

the money! where ist? powr’t down, down with it, down with it:

I say powr’t oth ground! lets see’t, lets see’t.

WIFE.

Good sir, keep but in patience and I hope

My words shall like you well: I bring you better

Comfort then the sale of my Dowrie.

HUSBAND.

Ha, whats that?

WIFE. Pray, do not fright me, sir, but vouchsafe me hearing: my Uncle, glad of your kindness to me and mild usage—for so I made it to him—has in pity of your declining fortunes, provided a place for you at Court of worth and credit, which so much overjoyed me—

HUSBAND. Out on thee, filth! over and overjoyed, [spurns her] when I’m in torments? Thou pollitick whore, subtiller then nine Devils, was this thy journey to Nuncke, to set down the history of me, of my state and fortunes? Shall I that Dedicated my self to pleasure, be now confind in service to crouch and stand like an old man ith hams, my hat off? I that never could abide to uncover my head ith Church? base slut! this fruit bears thy complaints.