Mat. I cannot tell, I may choose.

Duke. Nay, then, law shall compel: I tell you, sir, So much her hard fate moves me, you should not breathe Under this air, unless you married her.

Mat. Well, then, when her wits stand in their right place,

I'll marry her.

Bell. I thank your grace.—Matheo, thou art mine : I am not mad, but put on this disguise,

Only for you, my lord; for you can tell

Much wonder of me, but you are gone : farewell.
Matheo, thou didst first turn my soul black,
Now make it white again: I do protest,

I'm pure as fire now, chaste as Cynthia's breast.
Hip. I durst be sworn, Matheo, she's indeed.

Mat. Cony-catched, gulled. must I sail in your fly.

boat.

Because I helped to rear your main-mast first?
Plague 'found you for't, 'tis well.

The cuckold's stamp goes current in all nations,
Some men ha' horns giv'n them at their creations.
If I be one of those, why so: 'tis better
To take a common wench, and make her good,
Than one that simpers, and at first will scarce
Be tempted forth over the threshold door,
Yet in one se ́nnight, zounds, turns arrant whore !
Come wench, thou shalt be mine, give me thy golls,2
We'll talk of legs hereafter.-See, my lord,

God give us joy!

All. God give you joy!

Enter VIOLA and GEORGE.

Geo. Come mistress, we are in Bedlam now; mass and see, we come in pudding-time, for here's the duke.

Vio. My husband, good my lord.

Duke. Have I thy husband?

1 i.e. Confound.

2 Hands,

Cast. It's Candido, my lord, he's here among the lunatics: Father, Anselmo, pray fetch him forth. [Exit ANSELMO.] This mad woman is his wife, and though she were not with child, yet did she long most spitefully to have her husband mad: and because she would be sure he should turn Jew, she placed him here in Bethlem. Yonder he comes.

Enter ANSELMO with CANDIDO.

Duke. Come hither, signor; are you mad?

Cand. You are not mad.

Duke. Why, I know that.

Cand. Then may you know I am not mad, that know You are not mad, and that you are the duke: None is mad here but one.-How do you, wife? What do you long for now ?-Pardon, my lord: She had lost her child's nose else: I did cut out Pennyworths of lawn, the lawn was yet mine own: A carpet was my gown, yet 'twas mine own: I wore my man's coat, yet the cloth mine own: ! Had a cracked crown, the crown was yet mine own. She says for this I'm mad: were her words true, I should be mad indeed : O foolish skill!1 Is patience madness? I'll be a madman still.

Vio. Forgive me, and I'll vex your spirit no more.

[Kneels. Duke. Come, come, we'll have you friends; join hearts, join hands.

Cand. See, my lord, we are even,

Nay rise, for ill deeds kneel unto none but Heaven.
Duke. Signor, methinks patience has laid on you
Such heavy weight, that you should loathe it

Cand. Loathe it !

Duke. For he whose breast is tender, blood so cool

That no wrongs heat it, is a patient fool:

What comfort do you find in being so calm ?

1 i.e. Reason.

[balm,

Cand. That which green wounds receive from sovereign Patience, my lord! why, 'tis the soul of peace; Of all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to Heaven. It makes men look like gods. The best of men That e'er wore earth about him, was a sufferer, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breathed. The stock of patience then cannot be poor; All it desires, it has; what monarch more? It is the greatest enemy to law

That can be; for it doth embrace all wrongs, And so chains up lawyers and women's tongues. 'Tis the perpetual prisoner's liberty,

His walks and orchards : 'tis the bond slave's freedom,

And makes him seem proud of each iron chain,
As though he wore it more for state than pain:
It is the beggars' music, and thus sings,
Although their bodies beg, their souls are kings.
O my dread liege! It is the sap of bliss
Rears us aloft, makes men and angels kiss.
And last of all, to end a household strife,
It is the honey 'gainst a waspish wife.

Duke. Thou giv'st it lively colours: who dare say
He's mad, whose words march in so good array?
'Twere sin all women should such husbands have,
For every man must then be his wife's slave.
Come, therefore, you shall teach our court to shine,
So calm a spirit is worth a golden mine,
Wives with meek husbands that to vex them long,
In Bedlam must they dwell, else dwell they wrong.
[Exeunt omnes.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

GASPARO TREBAZZI, Duke of Milan.
HIPPOLITO, a Count, Husband of INFELICE.
ORLANDO FRISCOBALDO, Father of BELLAFRONT.
MATHEO, Husband of BELLAFRONT.

CANDIDO, a Linen Draper.

LODOVICO SFORZA.

BERALDO.

CAROLO.

FONTINELL.

ASTOLFO.

ANTONIO GEORGIO, a poor Scholar.

BRYAN, an Irish Footman.

BOTS, a Pander.

Masters of Bridewell, Prentices, Servants, &c.