Can from a four-leg'd creature make a thing Rob. A bridle; a jugling bridle, Sir. A witch! my wife a witch! The more I strive to unwind Myself from this meander, I the more Art thou a witch? Prithee, woman, Wife. It cannot be denied, I am such a curst creature. Gen. Keep aloof: And do not come too near me. O my trust; Been of my soul so chary, still to study What best was for its health, to renounce all The works of that black fiend with my best force; With a devil in my bosom? Wife. Pardon, Sir. [She looks down.] Gen. Pardon! can such a thing as that be hoped? Lift thine up eyes, lost woman, to hills; It must be thence expected: look not down yon Unto that horrid dwelling; which thou hast sought Wife. I am. Gen. With that word I am thunderstruck, And know not what to answer; yet resolve me, Wife. OI have. Gen. What? and how far? Wife. I have promis'd him my soul. Gen. Ten thousand times better thy body had Been Been promis'd to the stake; aye, and mine too, Wife. I hope, not so. know, Thou 'rt a lost woman, Gen. Why, hast thou any hope? Wife. Yes, sir, I have. Gen. Make it appear to me. Wife. I hope I never bargain'd for that fire, Further than penitent tears have power to quench. Gen. I would see some of them. Wife. You behold them now (If you look on me with charitable eyes) Gen. May I presume 't? Wife. I kneel to both your mercies. A witch is? Wife. Alas, none better; Or after mature recollection can be Gen. Tell me, are those tears As full of true-hearted penitence, As mine of sorrow to behold what state, What desperate state, thou 'rt faln in? Wife. Sir, they are. Gen. Rise; and, as I do you, so heaven pardon me; We all offend, but from such falling off Defend Defend us! Well, I do remember, wife, Gentlemen, welcome; 'tis a word I use; Nor do I love that common phrase of guests, Being set to meat, that I'll excuse your fare, 46 Compare this with a story in the Arabian Nights, where a man discovers his wife to be a goul. A FAIR QUARREL: A COMEDY. BY THOMAS MIDDLETON AND WM. ROWLEY. Captain Ager in a dispute with a Colonel his friend, receives from the Colonel the appellation of Son of a Whore. A challenge is given and accepted: but the Captain, before he goes to the field, is willing to be confirmed of his mother's honor from her own lips. Lady Ager, being questioned by her Son, to prevent a duel, falsely slanders herself of unchastity. The Captain, thinking that he has a bad cause, refuses to fight. But being reproached by the Colonel with cowardice, he esteems that he has now a sufficient cause for a quarrel, in the vindicating of his honor from that aspersion; and draws, and disarms his opponent. Lady. Captain, her Son. La. Where left you your dear friend the Colonel ? The fame and reputation of your time Is much engag'd to. Cap. Yes and you knew all, mother. La. I thought I'd known so much of his fair goodness, More could not have been look'd for. Cap. O yes, yes, Madam: And this his last exceeded all the rest. La. For gratitude's sake let me know this I prithee. Cap. Then thus; and I desire your censure freely, Whether it appear'd not a strange noble kindness in him. La. Trust me, I long to hear't. Cap. You know he's hasty; That by the way. La. So are the best conditions: Your father was the like. Cap. I begin now To To doubt me more: why am not I so too then? Cap. Marry, thus, good Madam. There was in company a foul-mouth'd villain Who should I liken him to that you have seen? He comes so near one that I would not match him with, Faith, just o' the Colonel's pitch: he's ne'er the worse man; Usurers have been compar'd to magistrates, But they all prove ne'er the worse men for that. A shame to all humanity and manners, Breathes from the rottenness of his gall and malice, Part of which fell upon your honor, madam, Which heighten'd my affliction. La. Mine, my honor, Sir? Cap. The Colonel soon enrag'd (as he's all touchwood) Takes fire before me, makes the quarrel his, Appoints the field; my wrath could not be heard, A cause that were unjust in our defence, And so to lose him everlastingly, In that dark depth where all bad quarrels sink Never to rise again, what pity 'twere, First to die here, and never to die there! La. Why what's the quarrel, speak, Sir, that should raise Such fearful doubt, my honor bearing part on't? The words, what e'er they were Cap. Son of a whore. La. Thou liest: And |