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Full speech
What do the Monkeys laugh at? No, you'd best reserve them, Till that see you wed be begged for fools; and then They will be seized to better use. You think now You have broke our gulls with anger that you have Resolved on other husbands: who would have you? But two such idiots, fit to be the styles To the vast pride and lust lurks in your blood, Derivative from the City: for our selves, Why should you have a thought we could descend So much from gentries honour, to mix with you? 'Tis true, you appear handsome, but you paint Worse then a Bawd, or waiting-woman, in love With the spruce Chaplain. Nay, beside You're infinitely lascivious, 'tis reported Y'ave killed the reverend Alderman at least, Ten Prentices, beside four journeymen. With too much labour: That you will be drunk Our selves can testify: and with these imperfections This inexhausted Magazin of vices, Could you imagine we would have you? no. Heaven give you joy, with your well-chosen spouses: May they be patient Cuckolds, that's all the harm Weel wish them: the more fools, more fit for husbands To such hight wild cats. They are our own, deer Valentine: our own as surely, As if the officious Priest had put the Ring Upon their pretty fingers; why you needs not Take words with such unkindness Clare yourselves Being the occasion. Prithee Claram No more remonstrances of this unkindness, Dry thy fair eyes, or I shall else grow childish, And weep for company: poor heart i'm sorry Th'art thus distempered; prithee sweet forgive me; We will be friends, and instantly steal hence, And end all difference in a happy marriage. Who can help it; There are more wives ith' Kingdom; yet Ime vexed That two such gulls should carry them: lets go seek Sir Timothy and my Cozen Holdfast out, And geld them, then proclaim them to be Eunuchs. That course may spoil their marriage. Enter Busy. What of that? Is this truth? Sweet Clare No more of this; for all your quaint dissembling. I know you love us, better than to partly For a slight quarrel; now we're man and wife, And we will love you, if you'll be obedient, And get such Boys upon you, as shall people Cheap side with wit five generations after us. Constable, isle have Thy Annals writ, in a far larger volume, Than Speed or Hollingshed. Our duties And after carriage, shall deserve your love, Nor our Fortune's Sir so m ane, but may Merit their portions Mr. Busy, Wee're all beholding to you, and it's fit, We should confess this Constable had wit.