Rho. Nothing but the king’s business could have hindered me; and I was so vexed, that I was just laying down my commission, rather than have failed my dear. [Kisses her hand.

Arte. Why, this is love as it should be betwixt man and wife:  such another couple would bring marriage into fashion again.  But is it always thus betwixt you?

Rho. Always thus! this is nothing.  I tell you, there is not such a pair of turtles in Sicily; there is such an eternal cooing and kissing betwixt us, that indeed it is scandalous before civil company.

Dor. Well, if I had imagined I should have been this fond fool, I would never have married the man I loved:  I married to be happy, and have made myself miserable by over-loving.  Nay, and now my case is desperate; for I have been married above these two years, and find myself every day worse and worse in love:  nothing but madness can be the end on’t.

Arte. Doat on, to the extremity, and you are happy.

Dor. He deserves so infinitely much, that, the truth is, there can be no doating in the matter; but, to love well, I confess, is a work that pays itself:  ’Tis telling gold, and, after, taking it for one’s pains.

Rho. By that I should be a very covetous person; for I am ever pulling out my money, and putting it into my pocket again.

Dor. O dear Rhodophil!

Rho. O sweet Doralice! [Embracing each other.

Arte. [Aside.] Nay, I am resolved, I’ll never interrupt lovers:  I’ll leave them as happy as I found them. [Steals away.

Rho. What, is she gone? [Looking up.

Dor. Yes; and without taking leave.

Rho. Then there’s enough for this time. [Parting from her.

Dor. Yes, sure, the scene is done, I take it.

  They walk contrary ways on the stage; he, with his hands in his
  pockets, whistling; she singing a dull melancholy tune.

Rho. Pox o’your dull tune, a man can’t think for you.

Dor. Pox o’your damned whistling; you can neither be company to me yourself, nor leave me to the freedom of my own fancy.

Rho. Well, thou art the most provoking wife!

Dor. Well, thou art the dullest husband, thou art never to be provoked.

Rho. I was never thought dull till I married thee; and now thou hast made an old knife of me; thou hast whetted me so long, till I have no edge left.

Dor. I see you are in the husband’s fashion; you reserve all your good humours for your mistresses, and keep your ill for your wives.

Rho. Prythee leave me to my own cogitations; I am thinking over all my sins, to find for which of them it was I married thee.