The goodness of your judgment to deny it,
For I do speak the very least of her;
And I would crave, and beg no more of heaven,
For all
my fortunes here, but to be able
To utter first in fit terms, what she is,

And then the true joys I conceive in her.

Maci. Is't possible she should deserve so well,

As you pretend?

Deli. Ay, and she knows so well

Her own deserts, that, when I strive t'enjoy them,
She weighs the things I do, with what she merits;

And, seeing my worth out-weigh'd so in her graces,
She is so solemn, so precise, so froward,

That no observance I can do to her

Can make her kind to me: if she find fault,

I mend that fault; and then she says, I faulted,
That I did mend it. Now, good friend, advise me,
How I may temper this strange spleen in her.

Maci. You are too amorous, too obsequious,
And make her too assured she may command you.
When women doubt most of their husband's loves,
They are most loving. Husbands must take heed
They give no gluts of kindness to their wives,
But use them like their horses; whom they feed
Not with a mangerful of meat together,
But half a peck at once; and keep them so
Still with an appetite to that they give them.
He that desires to have a loving wife,
Must bridle all the shew of that desire :
Be kind, not amorous; nor bewraying kindness,
As if love wrought it, but considerate duty.
Offer no love rites, but let wives still seek them,
For when they come unsought, they seldom like them,
Deli. Believe me, Macilente, this is gospel.

O, that a man were his own man so much,
To rule himself thus. I will strive, i'faith,
To be more strange and careless; yet I hope

I have now taken such a perfect course,
To make her kind to me, and live contented,
That I shall find my kindness well return'd,
And have no need to fight with my affections.
She late hath found much fault with every room
Within my house; one was too big, she said,
Another was not furnish'd to her mind,
And so through all; all which, now, I have alter'd.
Then here, she hath a place, on my back-side,
Wherein she loves to walk; and that, she said,
Had some ill smells about it: now, this walk
Have I, before she knows it, thus perfumed
With herbs, and flowers; and laid in divers places,
As 'twere on altars, consecrate to her,

Perfumed gloves, and delicate chains of amber,
To keep the air in awe of her sweet nostrils :
This have I done, and this I think will please her.
Behold, she comes.

Enter FALLACE.

Fal. Here's a sweet stink indeed!

What, shall I ever be thus crost and plagued,
And sick of husband? O, my head doth ache,
As it would cleave asunder, with these savours!
All my rooms alter'd, and but one poor walk
That I delighted in, and that is made

So fulsome with perfumes, that I am fear'd,
My brain doth sweat so, I have caught the plague!
Deli. Why, gentle wife, is now thy walk too sweet?
Thou said'st of late, it had sour airs about it,
And found'st much fault that I did not correct it.
Fal. Why, an I did find fault, sir?

Deli. Nay, dear wife,

I know thou hast said thou hast loved perfumes,
No woman better.

Fal. Ay, long since, perhaps ;

But now that sense is alter'd: you would have me,

m

er'd

aces.

her.

ue!

eet?

ne,

Like to a puddle, or a standing pool,
To have no motion, nor no spirit within me.
No, I am like a pure and sprightly river,
That moves for ever, and yet still the same;
Or fire, that burns much wood, yet still one flame.
Deli. But yesterday, I saw thee at our garden,
Smelling on roses, and on purple flowers;

And since, I hope, the humour of thy sense
Is nothing changed.

Fal. Why, those were growing flowers,

And these within my walk are cut and strewed.
Deli. But yet they have one scent.

Fal. Ay! have they so?

In your gross judgment. If you make no difference
Betwixt the scent of growing flowers and cut ones,
You have a sense to taste lamp oil, i'faith :

And with such judgment have you changed the
chambers,

Leaving no room, that I can joy to be in,

In all your house; and now my walk, and all,
You smoke me from, as if I were a fox,
And long, belike, to drive me quite away:
Well, walk you there, and I'll walk where I list.

Deli. What shall I do? O, I shall never please her.
Maci. Out on thee, dotard! what star ruled his birth,
That brought him such a Star? blind Fortune still
Bestows her gifts on such as cannot use them :
How long shall I live, ere I be so happy
To have a wife of this exceeding form?

[A side.

Deli. Away with 'em! would I had broke a joint When I devised this, that should so dislike her. Away, bear all away. [Exit FIDO with flowers, &c. Fal. Ay, do; for fear

Aught that is there should like her. O, this man,

2 Fal. Ay, do; for fear

Aught that is there should like her,] i. e. should please her. So in the line just above, "that should so dislike," i. e. displease her:

How cunningly he can conceal himself,

As though he loved, nay, honour'd and adored !— Deli. Why, my sweet heart?

Fal. Sweet heart! O, better still!

And asking, why? wherefore? and looking strangely, As if he were as white as innocence!

Alas, you're simple, you; you cannot change,
Look pale at pleasure, and then red with wonder:
No, no, not you! 'tis pity o' your naturals.

I did but cast an amorous eye, e'en now,
Upon a pair of gloves that somewhat liked me,
And straight he noted it, and gave command
All should be ta'en away.

Deli. Be they my bane then!

What, sirrah, Fido, bring in those gloves again

You took from hence.

Fal. 'Sbody, sir, but do not : Bring in no gloves to spite me; Deli. Ay me, most wretched; strued!

if you do--
how am I miscon-

Maci. O, how she tempts my heart-strings with

her eye,

To knit them to her beauties, or to break!

What mov'd the heavens, that they could not make
Me such a woman! but a man, a beast,

That hath no bliss like others? Would to heaven,
In wreak of my misfortunes, I were turn'd
To some fair water-nymph, that, set upon
The deepest whirl-pit of the rav'nous seas,
My adamantine eyes might headlong hale
This iron world to me, and drown it all!

Cor. Behold, behold, the translated gallant.
Mit. O, he is welcome.

[Aside.

and this is the language of the poet's contemporaries. So Shakspeare:

"His countenance likes me not." King Lear.

and almost every dramatist of the age. WHAL.

Enter FUNGOSO, apparelled like FASTIDIOUS BRISK. Fung. Save you, brother and sister; save you, sir! I have commendations for you out o' the country.I wonder they take no knowledge of my suit: [Aside.] -Mine uncle Sogliardo is in town. Sister, methinks you are melancholy; why are you so sad? I think you took me for master Fastidious Brisk, sister, did you not?

Fal. Why should I take you for him?

Fung. Nay, nothing.I was lately in master Fastidious's company, and methinks we are very like. Deli. You have a fair suit, brother, 'give you joy on't.

Fung. Faith, good enough to ride in, brother; I

made it to ride in.

Fal. O, now I see the cause of his idle demand was his new suit.

Deli. Pray you, good brother, try if you can change her mood.

Fung. I warrant you, let me alone: I'll put her out of her dumps. Sister, how like you my suit? Fal. O, you are a gallant in print now, brother." Fung. Faith, how like you the fashion? it is the last edition, I assure you.

Fal. I cannot but like it to the desert.

Fung. Troth, sister, I was fain to borrow these spurs, I have left my gown in gage for them, pray you lend me an angel.

Fal. Now, beshrew my heart then.

3 Fal. O, you are a gallant in print now, brother.] You are now

a perfect, complete gallant. Thus Chapman :

""Tis such a pick'd fellow, not a hair

About his whole bulk, but it stands in print.” All Fools.

And Massinger :

Is he not, madam,

A monsieur, now, in print?" Guardian.

WHAL.