SCENE III.

QUOMODO’s _Shop_.

THO. [_within_] O, my husband![1111]' SIM. [_within_] My father, O, my father! FAL. [_within_] My sweet master, dead!

_Enter_ SHORTYARD _and Boy_.

SHO. Run, boy; bid ’em ring out; he’s dead, he’s gone. BOY. Then is as arrant a knave gone as e’er was called upon. [_Exit._ SHO. The happiest good that ever Shortyard felt! I want to be express’d, my mirth is such. To be struck now e’en when his joys were high! Men only kiss their knaveries, and so die; I’ve often mark’d it. He was a famous cozener while he liv’d, And now his son shall reap’t;[1112] I’ll ha’ the lands, Let him study law after; ’tis no labour To undo him for ever: but for Easy, Only good confidence did make him foolish, And not the lack of sense; that was not it: ’Tis worldly craft beats down a scholar’s wit. For this our son and heir now, he From his conception was entail’d an ass, And he has kept it well, twenty-five years now: Then the slightest art will do’t; the lands lie fair: No sin to beggar a deceiver’s heir. [_Exit._ [_Bell tolls._

_Enter_ THOMASINE _and_ WINEFRED _in haste_.

THO. Here, Winefred, here, here, here; I have always found thee secret. WIN. You shall always find me so, mistress. THO. Take this letter and this ring—— [_Giving them._ WIN. Yes, forsooth. THO. O, how all the parts about me shake!—inquire for one master Easy, at his old lodging i’ the Blackfriars. WIN. I will indeed, forsooth. THO. Tell him, the party that sent him a hundred pound t’other day to comfort his heart, has likewise sent him this letter and this ring, which has that virtue to recover him again for ever, say: name nobody, Winefred. WIN. Not so much as you, forsooth. THO. Good girl! thou shalt have a mourning-gown at the burial of mine honesty. WIN. And I’ll effect your will a’ my fidelity. [_Exit._ THO. I do account myself the happiest widow that ever counterfeited weeping, in that I have the leisure now both to do that gentleman good and do myself a pleasure; but I must seem like a hanging moon, a little waterish awhile.

_Enter_ REARAGE _and Country Wench’s Father_.

REAR. I entertain both thee and thy device; ’Twill put ’emboth to shame. FA. That is my hope, sir; Especially that strumpet. REAR. Save you, sweet widow! I suffer for your heaviness. THO. O master Rearage, I have lost the dearest husband that ever woman did enjoy! REAR. You must have patience yet. THO. O, talk not to me of patience, and[1113] you love me, good master Rearage. REAR. Yet, if all tongues go right, he did not use you so well as a man mought.[1114] THO. Nay, that’s true indeed, master Rearage; he ne’er used me so well as a woman might have been used, that’s certain; in troth, ’t’as been our greatest falling out, sir; and though it be the part of a widow to shew herself a woman for her husband’s death, yet when I remember all his unkindness, I cannot weep a stroke, i’faith, master Rearage: and, therefore, wisely did a great widow in this land comfort up another; Go to, lady, quoth she, leave blubbering; thou thinkest upon thy husband’s good parts when thou sheddest tears; do but remember how often he has lain from thee, and how many naughty slippery turns he has done thee, and thou wilt ne’er weep for him, I warrant thee. You would not think how that counsel has wrought with me, master Rearage; I could not dispend another tear now, and[1115] you would give me ne’er so much. REAR. Why, I count you the wiser, widow; it shews you have wisdom when you can check your passion:[1116] for mine own part, I have no sense to sorrow for his death, whose life was the only rub to my affection. THO. Troth, and so it was to mine: but take courage now; you’re a landed gentleman, and my daughter is seven hundred pound strong to join with you. REAR. But Lethe lies i’ th’ way. THO. Let him lie still: You shall tread o’er him, or I’ll fail in will. REAR. Sweet widow! [_Exeunt._