MRS ART.  Make haste again, I prythee. [Exit PIPKIN.] Till I see him,
My heart will never be at rest within me: 
My husband hath of late so much estrang’d
His words, his deeds, his heart from me,
That I can seldom have his company;
And even that seldom with such discontent,
Such frowns, such chidings, such impatience,
That did not truth and virtue arm my thoughts,
They would confound me with despair and hate,
And make me run into extremities. 
Had I deserv’d the least bad look from him,
I should account myself too bad to live,
But honouring him in love and chastity,
All judgments censure freely of my wrongs.
                                   [Exit.

    Enter YOUNG MASTER ARTHUR, YOUNG MASTER LUSAM, and PIPKIN.

Y. ART.  Pipkin, what said she when she sent for me?

PIP.  ’Faith, master, she said little, but she thought [The] more, for she was very melancholy.

Y. ART.  Did I not tell you she was melancholy,
For nothing else but that she sent for me,
And fearing I would come to dine with her.

Y. LUS.  O, you mistake her; even, upon my soul,
I durst affirm you wrong her chastity. 
See where she doth attend your coming home.

    Enter MISTRESS ARTHUR.

MRS ART.  Come, Master Arthur, shall we in to dinner? 
Sirrah, begone, and see it served in.

Y. LUS.  Will you not speak unto her?

Y. ART.  No, not I; will you go in, sir.

MRS ART.  Not speak to me! nor once look towards me! 
It is my duty to begin, I know,
And I will break this ice of courtesy. 
You are welcome home, sir.

Y. ART.  Hark, Master Lusam, if she mock me not! You are welcome home, sir.  Am I welcome home?  Good faith, I care not if I be or no.

Y. LUS.  Thus you misconstrue all things, Master Arthur. 
Look, if her true love melt not into tears.

Y. ART.  She weeps, but why? that I am come so soon,
To hinder her of some appointed guests,
That in my absence revel in my house: 
She weeps to see me in her company,
And, were I absent, she would laugh with joy. 
She weeps to make me weary of the house,
Knowing my heart cannot away with grief.

MRS ART.  Knew I that mirth would make you love my bed,
I would enforce my heart to be more merry.

Y. ART.  Do you not hear? she would enforce her heart! 
All mirth is forc’d, that she can make with me.

Y. LUS.  O misconceit, how bitter is thy taste! 
Sweet Master Arthur, Mistress Arthur too,
Let me entreat you reconcile these jars,
Odious to heaven, and most abhorr’d of men.