Act 5 — SCENE II.

Ware. My dearest Dorcas, welcome. Here you see The house you must be mistress of, which with This kiss I do confirm unto you. Dor. Forbear, sir. Ware. How! wife, refuse to kiss me? Dor. Yes, unless A sweeter air came from you; y' have turned my stomach. I wonder you can be so rude to ask me, Knowing your lungs are perish'd. Ware. This is rare, That I should live to this great age, and never Till now know I was rotten! Dor. I shall never Endure your conversation: I hope you have Contriv'd two beds, two chambers, and two tables. It is an article, that I should live Retir'd—that is, apart. Ware. But pray you, wife, are you in earnest? Dor. D'you think I'll jest with age? Ware. Will you not lie with me, then? Dor. Did ever man Of your hairs ask such questions? I do blush At your unreasonableness. Ware. Nay, then—— Dor. Is't fit I should be buried? Ware. I reach you not. Dor. Why, to lie with you were a direct emblem Of going to my grave. War. I understand you. Dor. I'll have your picture set in my weddingring For a Death's head. Ware. I do conceive you. Dor. I'd Rather lie with an ancient tomb, or embrace An ancestor than you. D'you think I'll come Between your winding-sheets? For what? To hear you Depart all night, and fetch your last groan; and I' th' morning find a deluge on the floor; Your entrails floating, and half my husband spit Upon the arras. Ware. I am married—— Dor. Then, For your abilities, should twelve good women Sit on these reverend locks, and on your heat And natural appetite, they would just find you As youthful as a coffin, and as hot As the sultry winter that froze o'er the Thames— They say the hard time did begin from you. Ware. Good, I am made the curse of watermen. Dor. Your humours come frost from you, and your nose Hath icicles in June. Ware. Assist me, patience! Why, hear you, mistress—you that have a fever And dog-days in your blood—if you knew this, Why did you marry me? Dor. Ha, ha, ha! Ware. She laughs. Dor. That your experienc'd age,[258] that hath felt springs And falls this forty years, should be so dull To think I have not them that shall supply Your cold defects! Ware. You have your servants, then, And I am fork'd? hum! Dor. Do you think A woman young, high in her blood—— Ware. And hot As goats or marmosites—— Dor. Apt to take flame at Every temptation—— Ware. And to kindle at The picture of a man—— Dor. Would wed dust, ashes, A monument, unless she were—— Ware. Crack'd, tried, and broken up? Dor. Right, sir, or lack'd a cloak? Ware. Mischief and hell! and was there none to make Your cloak but I? Dor. Not so well-lin'd! Ware. O, you Stay'd for a wealthy cuckold; your tame beast Must have his gilded horns? Dor. Yes, sir; besides, Your age being impotent, you would, I knew, In conscience wink at my stol'n helps, if I Took comfort from abroad. Ware. Yes, yes; yes, yes! You shall be comforted: I will maintain A stallion for you. Dor. I will have friends come to me. So you'll conceal—— Ware. Alas! I'll be your pander; Deliver letters for you, and keep the door. Dor. I'll have a woman shall do that. Ware. O impudence! Unheard-of impudence! Dor. Then, sir, I'll look Your coffers shall maintain me at my rate. Ware. How's that? Dor. Why, like a lady; for I do mean To have you knighted. Ware. I shall rise to honour. Dor. D'you think I'll have your factor move before me, Like a device stirr'd by a wire, or like Some grave clock wound up to a regular pace? Ware. No, you shall have your usher, dame, to stalk Before you, like a buskin'd prologue,[259] in A stately, high, majestic motion, bare. Dor. I do expect it: yes, sir, and my coach, Six horses and postillion; four are fit For them that have a charge of children: you And I shall never have any. Ware. If we have, All Middlesex is father. Dor. Then I'll have My footman to run by me when I visit, Or take the air sometimes in Hyde Park. Ware. You, Besides being chaste, are good at races too: You can be a jockey for a need? Dor. Y' are pleasant, sir. Ware. Why, hark you, hark you, mistress; you told me You lov'd retirement, loved not visits, and bargain'd I should not carry you abroad. Dor. You! no. Is't fit I should be seen at court with you? Such an odd sight as you would make the ladies Have melancholy thoughts. Ware. You bound me, too, I should not go to sea: you lov'd me so, You could not be without me. Dor. Not if you stay'd Above a year; for should I, in a long voyage, Prove fruitful, I should want a father to The infant. Ware. Most politicly kind, And, like a whore, perfect i' th' mystery! It is beyond my sufferance. Dor. Pray, sir, vex [not]: I'll in and see your jewels, and make choice Of some for every day; and some to wear At masques. [Exit. Ware. 'Tis very good. Two days Of this I shall grow mad; or, to redeem Myself, commit some outrage. O—O—O!