PERFECT

Yes, such a wife as I, that have a man As if my self had made him: such a one As I may justly say, I am the rib Belonging to his breast. Widow and Maid, Your lives compared to mine are miserable, Though weal and beauty meet in each of you. Poor virgin, all thy sport is thought of love, And meditation of a man, the time And circumstance ere thou canst fix thy thoughts On one thy fancy will approve. Why if it be. The doubt, he will not hold his brittle faith, That he is not a competible choice, And so your noble friends will cross the match, Does make your happiness uncertain still: Or say you married him, what he would prove. Can you compare your state then to a Wife? Widow. Wee'll stand aside. Your happiness? He's come again, lift him up. It should be my request, but that I am full. Sir I have often herd my husband speak of your acquaintance. Sir, you are most welcome, & let scandalous tongues No more deter you, I dare use you Sir, With all the right belonging to a friend, And what I dare, I dare let all man see My conscience rather, then men's thoughts be free. Sir I did think you had esteemed of him As you made show, therefore I used him well, And yet not so but that the strictest eye I durst have made a witness of my carriage. Sir you may, but if I know what hath deserved all this I am no woman, because he kissed my hand, unwillingly. You are a base fellow, and unworthy man As ever poor Gentlewoman matched withal, Why should you make such show of love to any Without the truth, thy beastly mind is Like Some decam ed Tradseman that does make his wife Entertain those for gain he not endures, Pish, swell and burst, I had rather with thy sword Be hewed to pieces, then led such a life, Out with it valiant si , I hold you for A drawer upon women, not on men, I will no more conceal your hollow heart, But e'ne report you as you are in truth. Thy mother was a whore if I be one. In troth I know not, wives without their husbands Me thinks are lowering days. If any Wife be, I must needs be so That have a Husband far above all men, Untainted with the humours others have, A perfect man, and one that loves you truly, You see the charge he left of your good usage. Fie servant, you show small civility And less humanity, d'ee requi e My husband love thus ill, or what ee think Of me, that you will utter to my face Such harsh, unfriendly, slanderous injuries Even of my Husband? Sir, forbear I pray My ears, or your own tongue, I am no housewife To hear my Husbands merit thus depraved. It cannot be, Alas he is as free from jealouzie, And ever was as confidence it self, I know he loves me to, too heartily To be suspicious, or to prove my truth. When you know, I'm a whore. Her clothes are all yonder my Lord. Rid into the Country. What was that good seruan If with any man, But prithee first consider with thy self If I should yield to thee, what a load thy Con cence Would bear about it, for I wish quick thunder May strike me, If I yet have lost the truth, Or whiteness of the hand I gave in Church, And 'twill not be, thy happiness (as thou thinkest) That thou alone shouldst make a woman fallen, That did resist all else, but to thy soul A bitter Corasiue, that thou didst stain, Virtue that else had stood immaculate, Nor speak I this, as yielding unto thee, For 'tis not in thy power, Wertenberg thou the sweetest Of nature's Children, and the happiest, To conquer me, nor in mineowne to yield, And thus it is with every pious wife. Thy daily railing at my absent Husband Makes me endure thee worse, for let him do The most preposterous ill relishing things To me, they seem good, since my Husband does they, Nor am I to revenge or govern him, And thus it should be with all virtuous Wives. No, 'twill not be yet, thou injurious man, How wilt thou right me in my Husbands thoughts, That on a false surmise, and spite hast told, A tale to breed uncurable discontent? Bold was that old wench that did serve the Widow, and thinking by this way to gain her love Missed of his purpose, and was thus cashiered, Nor cares she to proclaim it to the world. Rise, rise, Sir pray You have done no wrong to me, at least I think so; Heaven hath prevented all my injury, I do forgive and marry you a new. Come, we are all invited to the weddings, The Lady Honour to the old rich Connt. Young Bold unto another Gentlewoman, We and the Widow are invited thither, Embrace and love, henceforth more really, Not so Like worldlings. Strong-water there. In to oath exceeding ill O God I, she is very loath to die. What with a cough? why he would spit, and that's more than you can do. And weight right in my opinion my honoured Lord, And every bodies else, this is a match, Fitter ten thousand times, than your intent. Yet mine is now approved the happiest life, Since each of you hath changed to be a wife. Your whore li es there, Well Servant leave me to my self a while, Return a none, but bear this hope away, TO shall be with you, if I at all do stray. Why here's right wordly friendship, you are well met; O men! what are you? why is our poor sex Still made the di graced subjects, in these plays? For vices, folly, and inconstancy? When were men look't into with such critical eyes Of observation, many would be found So full of gross and base corruption, That none (unless the Devil himself turned writer) Could feign so badly, to express them truly; Some wives that had a husband now Like mine, Would yield their honours up, to any man, Far be it from my thoughts, o let me stand, Thou God of marriage and chastity, And honour to my sex, no injury, Compel the virtue of my breast to yield, I'ts not revenge for any wife, to S aine The nuptial bed, although she be yoked ill, Who falls, because her husband so hath done, Cures not his wound, but in her self makes one.