Wife . I cry you mercy, then, George! you know we are all frail and full of infirmities.—D’ye hear, Master Merrythought? may I crave a word with you?]

Mer . [Appearing above .] Strike up lively, lads!

[Wife . I had not thought, in truth, Master Merrythought, that a man of your age and discretion, as I may say, being a gentleman, and therefore known by your gentle conditions, could have used so little respect to the weakness of his wife; for your wife is your own flesh, the staff of your age, your yoke-fellow, with whose help you draw through the mire of this transitory world; nay, she’s your own rib: and again—]

Mer . [Sings .]

[Wife . Marry, with a vengeance! I am heartily sorry for the poor gentlewoman: but if I were thy wife, i’faith, grey-beard, i’faith—

Cit . I prithee, sweet honeysuckle, be content.

Wife . Give me such words, that am a gentlewoman born! hang him, hoary rascal! Get me some drink, George;

[Exit Citizen .

Mer . Play me a light lavolta. Come, be frolic.
Fill the good fellows wine.

Mist . Mer . Why, Master Merrythought, are you disposed to make me wait here? You’ll open, I hope; I’ll fetch them that shall open else.

Mer . Good woman, if you will sing, I’ll give you something; if not—

[Sings .

[Exit above .

Mist . Mer . Now a churl’s fart in your teeth, sir!—Come, Mick, we’ll not trouble him; ’a shall not ding us i’ the teeth with his bread and his broth, that he shall not. Come, boy; I’ll provide for thee, I warrant thee. We’ll go to Master Venturewell’s, the merchant: I’ll get his letter to mine host of the Bell in Waltham; there I’ll place thee with the tapster: will not that do well for thee, Mick? and let me alone for that old cuckoldly knave your father; I’ll use him in his kind, I warrant ye.

[Exeunt .

Re-enter Citizen with Beer .

[Wife . Come, George, where’s the beer?

Cit . Here, love.

Wife . This old fornicating fellow will not out of my mind yet.—Gentlemen, I’ll begin to you all; and I desire more of your acquaintance with all my heart. [Drinks .] Fill the gentlemen some beer, George. [Enter Boy .] Look, George, the little boy’s come again: methinks he looks something like the Prince of Orange