O. ART.  Well, go to, wild-oats! spendthrift! prodigal! 
I’ll cross thy name quite from my reck’ning book: 
For these accounts, faith, it shall scathe thee somewhat,
I will not say what somewhat it shall be.

O. LUS.  And it shall scathe him somewhat of my purse: 
And, daughter, I will take thee home again,
Since thus he hates thy fellowship;
Be such an eyesore to his sight no more: 
I tell thee, thou no more shalt trouble him.

MRS ART.  Will you divorce whom God hath tied together? 
Or break that knot the sacred hand of heaven
Made fast betwixt us?  Have you never read,
What a great curse was laid upon his head
That breaks the holy band of marriage,
Divorcing husbands from their chosen wives? 
Father, I will not leave my Arthur so;
Not all my friends can make me prove his foe.

O. ART.  I could say somewhat in my son’s reproof.

O. LUS.  Faith, so could I.

O. ART.  But, till I meet him, I will let it pass.

O. LUS.  Faith, so will I.

O. ART.  Daughter, farewell! with weeping eyes I part;
Witness these tears, thy grief sits near my heart.

O. LUS.  Weeps Master Arthur? nay, then, let me cry;
His cheeks shall not be wet, and mine be dry.

MRS ART.  Fathers, farewell! spend not a tear for me,
But, for my husband’s sake, let these woes be. 
For when I weep, ’tis not for my own care,
But fear, lest folly bring him to despair.

[Exeunt O. ART. and O. LUS.

Y. LUS.  Sweet saint! continue still this patience,
For time will bring him to true penitence. 
Mirror of virtue! thanks for my good cheer—­
A thousand thanks.

MRS ART.  It is so much too dear;
But you are welcome for my husband’s sake;
His guests shall have best welcome I can make.

Y. LUS.  Than marriage nothing in the world more common;
Nothing more rare than such a virtuous woman.
          
                                     [Exit.

MRS ART.  My husband in this humour, well I know,
Plays but the unthrift; therefore it behoves me
To be the better housewife here at home;
To save and get, whilst he doth laugh and spend: 
Though for himself he riots it at large,
My needle shall defray my household’s charge.
    [She sits down to work in front of the house.

FUL.  Now, Master Anselm, to her, step not back;
Bustle yourself, see where she sits at work;
Be not afraid, man; she’s but a woman,
And women the most cowards seldom fear: 
Think but upon my former principles,
And twenty pound to a drachm,[7] you speed.

ANS.  Ay, say you so?

FUL.  Beware of blushing, sirrah,
Of fear and too much eloquence! 
Rail on her husband, his misusing her,
And make that serve thee as an argument,
That she may sooner yield to do him wrong. 
Were it my case, my love and I to plead,
I have’t at fingers’ ends:  who could miss the clout,
Having so fair a white, such steady aim. 
This is the upshot:  now bid for the game.