ANS.  And can you love him yet?

FUL.  Then did he not,
Either by poison or some other plot,
Send you to death where, by his providence,
God hath preserved you by that wond’rous miracle? 
Nay, after death, hath he not scandalis’d
Your place with an immodest courtesan?

ANS.  And can you love him yet?

MRS ART.  And yet, and yet,
And still, and ever whilst I breathe this air: 
Nay, after death, my unsubstantial soul,
Like a good angel, shall attend on him,
And keep him from all harm. 
But is he married? much good do his heart! 
Pray God, she may content him better far
Than I have done; long may they live in peace,
Till I disturb their solace; but because
I fear some mischief doth hang o’er his head,
I’ll weep my eyes dry with my present care,
And for their healths make hoarse my tongue with prayer.
          
                                       [Exit.

FUL.  Art sure she is a woman? if she be,
She is create of nature’s purity.

ANS.  O yes, I too well know she is a woman;
Henceforth my virtue shall my love withstand,
And of my striving thoughts get th’upper hand.

FUL.  Then, thus resolv’d, I straight will drink to thee
A health thus deep, to drown thy melancholy.

[Exeunt.

ACT V., SCENE I.

    A Room in Mistress Mary’s House.

    Enter MISTRESS MARY, YOUNG MASTER ARTHUR,
    BRABO, and MISTRESS SPLAY.

MRS MA.  Not have my will! yes, I will have my will;
Shall I not go abroad but when you please? 
Can I not now and then meet with my friends,
But, at my coming home, you will control me? 
Marry, come up!

Y. ART.  Where art thou, patience? 
Nay, rather, where’s become my former spleen? 
I had a wife would not have us’d me so.

MRS MA.  Why, you Jacksauce! you cuckold! you what-not! 
What, am I not of age sufficient
To go and come still, when my pleasure serves,
But must I have you, sir, to question me? 
Not have my will! yes, I will have my will.

Y. ART.  I had a wife would not have us’d me so;
But she is dead.

BRA.  Not have her will, sir! she shall have her will: 
She says she will, and, sir, I say she shall. 
Not have her will! that were a jest indeed;
Who says she shall not? if I be dispos’d
To man her forth, who shall find fault with it? 
What’s he that dare say black’s her eye?[21]
Though you be married, sir, yet you must know,
That she was ever born to have her will.

MRS SPLAY.  Not have her will!  God’s passion!  I say still,
A woman’s nobody that wants her will.

Y. ART.  Where is my spirit? what, shall I maintain
A strumpet with a Brabo and her bawd,
To beard me out of my authority? 
What, am I from a master made a slave?