Abig.  Th’art a vile man, God bless my issue from thee.

Elder Lo.  Thou hast but one, and that’s in thy left crupper, that makes thee hobble so; you must be ground i’th’ breach like a Top, you’I ne’re spin well else:  Farewell Fytchock. [Exeunt.

Enter Lady alone.

Lady.  Is it not strange that every womans will should track out new wayes to disturb her self? if I should call my reason to account, it cannot answer why I keep my self from mine own wish, and stop the man I love from his; and every hour repent again, yet still go on:  I know ’tis like a man, that wants his natural sleep, and growing dull would gladly give the remnant of his life for two hours rest; yet through his frowardness, will rather choose to watch another man, drowsie as he, than take his own repose.  All this I know:  yet a strange peevishness and anger, not to have the power to do things unexpected, carries me away to mine own ruine:  I had rather die sometimes than not disgrace in public him whom people think I love, and do’t with oaths, and am in earnest then:  O what are we!  Men, you must answer this, that dare obey such things as we command.  How now? what newes?

Enter Abigal.

Abi.  Faith Madam none worth hearing.

Lady.  Is he not come?

Abi.  No truly.

Lady.  Nor has he writ?

Abigal.  Neither.  I pray God you have not undone your self.

Lady.  Why, but what saies he?

Abi.  Faith he talks strangely.

Lady.  How strangely?

Abi.  First at your Letter he laught extremely.

Lady.  What, in contempt?

Abi. He laught monstrous loud, as he would die, and when you wrote it I think you were in no such merry mood, to provoke him that way:  and having done he cried Alas for her, and violently laught again.

Lady. Did he?

Abi. Yes, till I was angry.

Lady. Angry, why? why wert thou angry? he did doe but well, I did deserve it, he had been a fool, an unfit man for any one to love, had he not laught thus at me:  you were angry, that show’d your folly; I shall love him more for that, than all that ere he did before:  but said he nothing else?

Abi. Many uncertain things:  he said though you had mockt him, because you were a woman, he could wish to do you so much favour as to see you:  yet he said, he knew you rash, and was loth to offend you with the sight of one, whom now he was bound not to leave.

Lady. What one was that?

Abi. I know not, but truly I do fear there is a making up there:  for I heard the servants, as I past by some, whisper such a thing:  and as I came back through the hall, there were two or three Clarks writing great conveyances in hast, which they said were for their Mistris joynture.