Lady.  Let him alone, he’s crack’t.

Abig.  I’le see him hang’d first, is a beastly fellow to use a woman of my breeding thus; I marry is he:  would I were a man, I’de make him eat his Knaves words!

Elder Lo.  Tie your she Otter up, good Lady folly, she stinks worse than a Bear-baiting.

Lady.  Why will you be angry now?

Elder Lo.  Goe paint and purge, call in your kennel with you:  you a Lady?

Abi.  Sirra, look to’t against the quarter Sessions, if there be good behaviour in the world, I’le have thee bound to it.

Elder Lo.  You must not seek it in your Ladies house then; pray send this Ferret home, and spin good Abigal.  And Madam, that your Ladiship may know, in what base manner you have us’d my service, I do from this hour hate thee heartily; and though your folly should whip you to repentance, and waken you at length to see my wrongs, ’tis not the endeavour of your life shall win me; not all the friends you have, intercession, nor your submissive letters, though they spoke as many tears as words; not your knees grown to th’ ground in penitence, nor all your state, to kiss you; nor my pardon, nor will to give you Christian burial, if you dye thus; so farewell.  When I am married and made sure, I’le come and visit you again, and vex you Ladie.  By all my hopes I’le be a torment to you, worse than a tedious winter.  I know you will recant and sue to me, but save that labour:  I’le rather love a fever and continual thirst, rather contract my youth to drink and sacerdote upon quarrels, or take a drawn whore from an Hospital, that time, diseases, and Mercury had eaten, than to be drawn to love you.

Lady.  Ha, ha, ha, pray do, but take heed though.

Elder Lo.  From thee, false dice, jades, Cowards, and plaguy Summers, good Lord deliver me. [Exit Elder Love.

Lady.  But hark you Servant, hark ye:  is he gon? call him again.

Abigal.  Hang him Paddock.

Lady.  Art thou here still? flie, flie, and call my Servant, flie or ne’r see me more.

Abigal.  I had rather knit again than see that rascall, but I must doe it. [Exit Abigal.

Lady.  I would be loth to anger him too much; what fine foolery is this in a woman, to use those men most forwardly they love most?  If I should lose him thus, I were rightly served.  I hope he’s not so much himself, to take it to th’heart:  how now? will he come back?

Enter Abigal.

Abig.  Never, he swears, whilst he can hear men say there’s any woman living:  he swore he would ha’ me first.

Lady.  Didst thou intreat him wench?

Abigal.  As well as I could Madam.  But this is still your way, to love being absent, and when he’s with you, laugh at him and abuse him.  There’s another way if you could hit on’t.