FONDLEWIFE, BARNABY.
FOND. I say I will tarry at home.
BAR. But, sir.
FOND. Good lack! I profess the spirit of contradiction hath possessed
the lad—I say I will tarry at home, varlet.
BAR. I have done, sir; then farewell five hundred pound.
FOND. Ha, how’s that? Stay, stay, did you leave word, say you, with his
wife? With Comfort herself?
BAR. I did; and Comfort will send Tribulation hither as soon as ever he
comes home. I could have brought young Mr. Prig to have kept my mistress
company in the meantime. But you say—
FOND. How, how, say, varlet! I say let him not come near my doors. I
say, he is a wanton young Levite, and pampereth himself up with dainties,
that he may look lovely in the eyes of women. Sincerely, I am afraid he
hath already defiled the tabernacle of our sister Comfort; while her good
husband is deluded by his godly appearance. I say that even lust doth
sparkle in his eyes and glow upon his cheeks, and that I would as soon
trust my wife with a lord’s high-fed chaplain.
BAR. Sir, the hour draws nigh, and nothing will be done here until you
come.
FOND. And nothing can be done here until I go; so that I’ll tarry, de’e
see.
BAR. And run the hazard to lose your affair, sir!
FOND. Good lack, good lack—I profess it is a very sufficient vexation
for a man to have a handsome wife.
BAR. Never, sir, but when the man is an insufficient husband. ’Tis
then, indeed, like the vanity of taking a fine house, and yet be forced
to let lodgings to help pay the rent.
FOND. I profess a very apt comparison, varlet. Go and bid my Cocky come
out to me; I will give her some instructions, I will reason with her
before I go.