O. LUS.  ’Fore God, ’tis true;
Our going may, perhaps, breed more debate,
And then we may too late wish we had stay’d;
And therefore, if you will be rul’d by me,
We will not go, that’s flat:  nay, if we love
Our credits or our quiets, let’s not go.

O. ART.  But if we love
Their credits or their quiets, we must go,
And reconcile them to their former love;
Where there is strife betwixt a man and wife ’tis hell,
And mutual love may be compared to heaven,
For then their souls and spirits are at peace. 
Come, Master Lusam, now ’tis dinner-time;
When we have dined, the first work we will make,
Is to decide their jars for pity’s sake.

O. LUS.  Well fare a good heart! yet are you advis’d? 
Go, said you, Master Arthur?  I will run
To end these broils, that discord hath begun.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Young Arthur’s House.

Enter MISTRESS ARTHUR and PIPKIN.

MRS ART.  Come hither, Pipkin. 
How chance you tread so softly?

PIP.  For fear of breaking, mistress.

MRS ART.  Art thou afraid of breaking, how so?

PIP.  Can you blame me, mistress?  I am crack’d already.

MRS ART.  Crack’d, Pipkin, how? hath any crack’d your crown?

PIP.  No, mistress; I thank God,
My crown is current, but—­

MRS ART.  But what?

PIP.  The maid gave me not my supper yesternight, so that indeed my belly wambled, and standing near the great sea-coal fire in the hall, and not being full, on the sudden I crack’d, and you know, mistress, a pipkin is soon broken.

MRS ART.  Sirrah, run to the Exchange, and if you there
Can find my husband, pray him to come home;
Tell him I will not eat a bit of bread
Until I see him; prythee, Pipkin, run.

PIP.  By’r Lady, mistress, if I should tell him so, it may be he would not come, were it for no other cause but to save charges; I’ll rather tell him, if he come not quickly, you will eat up all the meat in the house, and then, if he be of my stomach, he will run every foot, and make the more haste to dinner.

MRS ART.  Ay, thou may’st jest; my heart is not so light
It can digest the least conceit of joy: 
Entreat him fairly, though I think he loves
All places worse that he beholds me in. 
Wilt thou begone?

PIP.  Whither, mistress? to the ’Change?

MRS ART.  Ay, to the ’Change.

PIP.  I will, mistress:  hoping my master will go so oft to the ’Change, that at length he will change his mind, and use you more kindly.  O, it were brave if my master could meet with a merchant of ill-ventures, to bargain with him for all his bad conditions, and he sell them outright! you should have a quieter heart, and we all a quieter house.  But hoping, mistress, you will pass over all these jars and squabbles in good health, as my master was at the making thereof, I commit you.