Of one another, having tongue-discourse,
Experience in the world, and such kind helps,
To laugh down time and meet age merrily?

Wid. Age, madam! you speak mirth: 'tis at my door,
But a long journey from your Ladyship yet.

Liv. My faith, I'm nine and thirty, every stroke, wench; And 'tis a general observation

'Mongst knights; wives, or widows, we account ourselves Then old, when young men's eyes leave looking at us. Come, now I have thy company, I'll not part with it

Till after supper.

Wid. Yes, I must crave pardon, madam.

Liv. I swear you shall stay supper; we have no strangers,

woman,

None but my sojourners and I, this gentleman

And the young heir his ward; you know your company. Wid. Some other time I will make bold with you, madam. Liv. Faith she shall not go.

Do you think I'll be forsworn?

Wid. 'Tis a great while

Till supper time; I'll take my leave then now, madam,
And come again in the evening, since your ladyship

Will have it so.

Lic. In the evening! by my troth, wench,

I'll keep you while I have you; you've great business sure,
To sit alone at home; I wonder strangely

What pleasure you take in 't. Were 't to me now,
I should be ever at one neighbor's house
Or other all day long; having no charge,

Or none to chide you, if you go, or stay,

Who may live merrier, aye, or more at heart's ease?

Come, we'll to chess or draughts, there are a hundred tricks

To drive out time till supper, never sear 't, wench.

[A Chess-board is sel.

Wid. I'll but make one step home, and return straight, madam.

Liv. Come, I'll not trust you, you make more excuses

To your kind friends than ever I knew any.

What business can you have, if you be sure

You've lock'd the doors? and, that being all you have,
I know you're careful on 't: one afternoon

So much to spend here! say I should entreat you now
To lie a night or two, or a week, with me,

Or leave your own house for a month together;

It were a kindness that long neighborhood
And friendship might well hope to prevail in :
Would you deny such a request? i'faith
Speak truly and freely.

Wid. I were then uncivil, madam.

Liv. Go to then, set your men: we'll have whole nights
Of mirth together, ere we be much older, wench.

Wid. As good now tell her then, for she will know it;
I've always found her a most friendly lady.
Liv. Why, widow, where's your mind?
Wid. Troth, even at home, madam.

To tell you truth, I left a gentlewoman

Even sitting all alone, which is uncomfortable,
Especially to young bloods.

Liv. Another excuse.

Wid. No, as I hope for health, madam, that's a truth;

Please you to send and see.

Liv. What gentlewoman? pish.

Wid. Wife to my son indeed.

Liv. Now I beshrew you.

Could you be so unkind to her and me,

To come and not bring her faith, 'tis not friendly.

Wid. I fear'd to be too bold.

Liv. Too bold! Oh what's become Of the true hearty love was wont to be 'Mongst neighbors in old time?

Wid. And she's a stranger, madam.

[Aside.

Liv. The more should be her welcome: when is courtesy In better practice, than when 'tis employ'd

In entertaining strangers. I could chide ye in faith.
Leave her behind, poor gentlewoman, alone too!

Make some amends, and send for her betimes, go.

Wid. Please you command one of your servants, madam.

Lir. Within there.

Attend the gentlewoman.

Brancha resists the Duke's attempt.

Bran. Oh treachery to honor!

Duke. Prithee tremble not.

I feel thy breast shake like a turtle panting
Under a loving hand that makes much on't.
Why art so fearful?

Bran. Oh my extremity!

My Lord, what seek you

Duke. Love.

Bran. 'Tis gone already:

I have a husband.

Duke. That's a single comfort; Take a friend to him.

Bran. That's a double mischief;

Or else there's no religion.

Duke. Do not tremble

At fears of thy own making.

Bran. Nor, great lord,

Make me not bold with death and deeds of ruin,
Because they fear not you; me they must fright;
Then am I best in health: should thunder speak
And none regard it, it had lost the name,

And were as good be still. I'm not like those
That take their soundest sleeps in greatest tempests;
Then wake I most, the weather fearfullest,

And call for strength to virtue.

Winding Sheet.

to have a being, and to live 'mongst men,

Is a fearful living and a poor one; let a man truly think on 't. To have the toil and griefs of fourscore years

This is one of those scenes which has the air of being an immediate transcript from life. Livia the "good neighbor" is as real a creature as one of Chaucer's characters She is such another jolly Housewife as the Wife of Bath

Put up in a white sheet, tied with two knots:
Methinks it should strike earthquakes in adulterers,
When even the very sheets they commit sin in

May prove for aught they know all their last garments.

Great Men's looks.

Did not the duke look up? methought he saw us.-
-That's every one's conceit that sees a duke,
If he look steadfastly, he looks straight at them:
When he perhaps, good careful gentleman,
Never minds any, but the look he casts
Is at his own intentions, and his object
Only the public good.

Weeping in Love.

Why should those tears be fetch'd forth! cannot love
Be even as well expressed in a good look,
But it must see her face still in a fountain?
It shows like a country maid dressing her head
By a dish of water: come, 'tis an old custom
To weep for love.

I did but chide in jest:

Lover's Chidings.

-prithee forgive me, the best loves use it

Sometimes; it sets an edge upon affection.

When we invite our best friends to a feast,

'Tis not all sweetmeats that we set before 'em ;

There's something sharp and salt, both to whet appetite, And make 'em taste their wine well: so methinks,

After a friendly sharp and savory chiding,

A kiss tastes wondrous well, and full o' the grape.

Wedlock.

O thou the ripe time of man's misery, wedlock;
When all his thoughts like over-laden trees
Crack with the fruits they bear, in cares, in jealousies.
O that's a fruit that ripens hastily,

After 'tis knit to marriage; it begins,

As soon as the sun shines upon the bride,
A little to show color.

Marrying the Adulteress, the Husband dead.

Is not sin sure enough to wretched man,

But he must bind himself in chains to 't? worse!
Must marriage, that immaculate robe of honor,
That renders Virtue glorious, fair, and fruitful,
To her great master, be now made the garment
Of leprosy and foulness? is this penitence,
To sanctify hot lust? what is it otherways
Than worship done to devils? is this the best
Amends that sin can make after her riots!
As if a drunkard, to appease heaven's wrath,
Should offer up his surfeit for a sacrifice :
If that be comely, then lust's offerings are
On wedlock's sacred altar.

MORE DISSEMBLERS BESIDES WOMEN: A COMEDY.
BY THOMAS MIDDLETON.

Death.

-when the heart's above, the body walks here

But like an idle servingman below,

Gaping and waiting for his master's coming.

He that lives fourscore years, is but like one

That stays here for a friend: when death comes, then
Away he goes, and is ne'er seen again.

Loving a Woman.

of all the frenzies

That follow flesh and blood,

The most ridiculous is to fawn on women;

There's no excuse for that: 'tis such a madness,
There is no cure set down for 't; no physician
Ever spent hour about it, for they guess'd