Am.

     Take that, ye are too saucy.

     Lean.

     How, proud Lady? 
     Strike my deserts?

     Am.

     I was to blame.

     Enter

     Bartolus.

     Bar.

     What wife, there? 
     Heaven keep my house from thieves.

     Lean.

     I am wretched: 
     Opened, discovered, lost to my wishes. 
     I shall be whooted at.

     Bar.

     What noise was this, wife? 
     Why dost thou smile?

     Lean.

     This proud thing will betray me.
     Bar.  Why these lie here? what angry, dear?

     Am.

     No, Sir,
     Only a chance, your pupil said he plaid well,
     And so indeed he do’s:  he undertook for ye,
     Because I would not sit so long time idle,
     I made my liberty, avoided your mate,
     And he again as cunningly endangered me,
     Indeed he put me strangely to it.  When presently
     Hearing you come, & having broke his ambush too,
     Having the second time brought off my Queen fair,
     I rose o’th’ sudden smilingly to shew ye,
     My apron caught the Chesse-board, and the men,
     And there the noise was.

     Bar.

     Thou art grown a Master,
     For all this I shall beat ye.

     Lean.

     Or I, Lawyer,
     For now I love her more, ’twas a neat answer,
     And by it hangs a mighty hope, I thank her,
     She gave my pate a sound knock that it rings yet,
     But you shall have a sounder if I live lawyer,
     My heart akes yet, I would not be in that fear—­

     Bar.

     I am glad ye are a gamester, Sir, sometimes
     For recreation we two shall fight hard at it.

     Am.

     He will prove too hard for me.

     Lean.

     I hope he shall do,
     But your Chess-board is too hard for my head, line that, good Lady.

     Bar.

     I have been attoning two most wrangling neighbours,
     They had no mony, therefore I made even. 
     Come, let’s go in and eat, truly I am hungry.

     Lean.

     I have eaten already, I must intreat your pardon.

     Bar.

     Do as ye please, we shall expect ye at supper. 
     He has got a little heart, now it seems handsomly.

     Am.

     You’l get no little head, if I do not look to ye.

     Lean.

     If ever I do catch thee again thou vanity—­

     Am.

     I was to blame to be so rash, I am sorry—­

[Exeunt.

     Actus Quartus.  Scena Prima.