SCAR.  I’ll parley with the devil:  ay, I will,
He gives his counsel freely, and the cause
He for his clients pleads goes always with them: 
He in my cause shall deal then; and I’ll ask him
Whether a cormorant may have stuff’d chests,
And see his brother starve? why, he’ll say, ay[433],
The less they give, the more I gain thereby;

    Enter BUTLER.

Their souls, their souls, their souls. 
How now, master? nay, you are my master;
Is my wife’s sheets warm? does she kiss well?

BUT.  Good sir.

SCAR.  Foh! make’t not strange, for in these days,
There’s many men lie in their masters’ sheets,
And so may you in mine, and yet—­your business, sir?

BUT.  There’s one in civil habit, sir, would speak with you.

SCAR.  In civil habit?

BUT.  He is of seemly rank, sir, and calls himself
By the name of Doctor Baxter of Oxford.

SCAR.  That man undid me; he did blossoms blow,
Whose fruit proved poison, though ’twas good in show: 
With him I’ll parley, and disrobe my thoughts
Of this wild frenzy that becomes me not. 
A table, candles, stools, and all things fit,
I know he comes to chide me, and I’ll hear him: 
With our sad conference we will call up tears,
Teach doctors rules, instruct succeeding years: 
Usher him in: 
Heaven spare a drop from thence, where’s bounteous throng: 
Give patience to my soul, inflame my tongue.

    Enter DOCTOR.

DOC.  Good Master Scarborow.

SCAR.  You are most kindly welcome, sooth, ye are.

DOC.  I have important business to deliver you.

SCAR.  And I have leisure to attend your hearing.

DOC.  Sir, you know I married you.

SCAR.  I know you did, sir.

DOC.  At which you promis’d both to God and men,
Your life unto your spouse should be like snow,
That falls to comfort, not to overthrow: 
And love unto your issue should be like
The dew of heaven, that hurts not, though it strike: 
When heaven and men did witness and record
’Twas an eternal oath, no idle word: 
Heaven, being pleased therewith, bless’d you with children,
And at heaven’s blessings all good men rejoice. 
So that God’s chair and footstool, heaven and earth,
Made offering at your nuptials as a knot
To mind you of your vow; O, break it not.

SCAR.  ’Tis very true[434].

DOC.  Now, sir, from this your oath and band[435],
Faith’s pledge and seal of conscience you have run,
Broken all contracts, and the forfeiture
Justice hath now in suit against your soul: 
Angels are made the jurors, who are witnesses
Unto the oath you took, and God himself,
Maker of marriage, he that seal’d the deed,
As a firm lease unto you during life,
Sits now as judge of your transgression: 
The world informs against you with this voice: 
If such sins reign, what mortals can rejoice?