Wid.

O, that ever I was born^{2 note}, that ever I was born!

Sir God.

Nay, good sister, dear sister, sweet sister, be of good comfort; show yourself a woman now or never.

Wid.

O, I have lost the dearest man, I have buried the sweetest husband, that ever lay by woman.

Sir God.

Nay, give him his due, he was indeed an honest, virtuous, discreet, wise man. He was my brother, as right as right^{3 note}.

Wid.

O, I shall never forget him, never forget him; he was a man so well given to a woman. Oh!

Sir God.

Nay, but kind sister, I could weep as much as any woman; but alas, our tears cannot call him again. Methinks you are well read, sister, and know that death is as common as homo, a common name to all men. A man shall be taken when he's making water. Nay, did not the learned parson, master Pigman, tell us even now,—that all flesh is frail—We are born to die—Man has but a time— with such-like deep and profound persuasions? as he is a rare fellow, you know, and an excellent reader. And for example, (as there are examples abundance,) did not sir Humphrey Bubble die t'other day? There's a lusty widow! why she cry'd not above half an hour. For shame, for shame!—Then followed him old master Fulsome, the usurer: there's a wise widow; why she cry'd ne'er a whit at all.

Wid.

O rank not me with those wicked women; I had a husband out-shin'd'em all.

Sir God.

Ay that he did, i'faith; he out-shin'd em ^note all^{4 note}.

Wid.

Dost thou stand there, and see us all weep, and not once shed a tear for thy father's death^{5 note}? oh thou ungracious son and heir thou!

Edm.

Troth, mother, I should not weep I'm sure. I am past a child, I hope, to make all my old school-fellows laugh at me; I should be mock'd, so I should. Pray let one of my sisters weep for me; I'll laugh as much for her another time.

Wid.

O thou past-grace, thou! Out of my sight, thou graceless imp! thou grievest me more than the death of thy father. O thou stubborn only son! Hadst thou such an honest man to thy father—that would deceive all the world to get riches for thee, and canst thou not afford a little salt water? He that so wisely did quite overthrow the right heir of those lands, which now you respect not: up every morning betwixt four and five; so duly at Westminster-hall every term-time, with all his cards and writings^{6 note}, for thee, thou wicked Absalon: O dear husband!

Edm.

Weep, quoth-a? I protest I am glad he's church'd; for now he's gone, I shall spend in quiet.

Fran.
Dear mother, pray cease; half your tears suffice;
'Tis time for you to take truce with your eyes:
Let me weep now.

Wid.

O such a dear knight, such a sweet husband have I lost, have I lost! If blessed be the

corse^{7 note} the rain rains upon, he had it pouring down.

Sir God.

Sister, be of good cheer. We are all mortal ourselves; I come upon you freshly, I ne'er speak without comfort. Hear me what I shall say:—My brother has left you wealthy; you're rich.

Wid.

Oh!

Sir God.

I say you're rich: you are also fair.

Wid.

Oh!

Sir God.

Go to, you're fair; you cannot smother it; beauty will come to light. Nor are your years so far enter'd with you, but that you will be sought after, and may very well answer another husband. The world is full of fine gallants; choice enough, sister; for what should we do with all our knights, I pray^{8 note}

Sir God.

Sister, ne'er say so. He was an honest brother of mine, and so; and you may light upon one as honest again, or one as honest again may light upon you: that's the properer phrase indeed.

Wid.
Never: O, if you love me, urge it not.
O may I be the by-word of the world, [Kneels.
The common talk at table in the mouth
Of every groom and waiter, if e'er more
I entertain the carnal suit of man.

Mary.
I must kneel down for fashion too.

Fran.
And I, whom never man as yet hath scal'd,
Even in this depth of general sorrow, vow
Never to marry, to sustain such loss
As a dear husband seems to be, once dead.

Mary.
I lov'd my father well too; but to say,
Nay, vow, I would not marry for his death,
Sure I should speak false Latin, should I not?
I'd as soon vow never to come in bed.
Tut! women must live by the quick, and not by the dead.

Wid.
Dear copy of my husband, O let me kiss thee! [Kisses her husband's picture.
How like him is this model! This brief picture
Quickens my tears: my sorrows are renew'd
At this fresh sight^{5 note}

.

Sir God.
Sister—

Wid.
Away!
All honesty with him is turn'd to clay.
O my sweet husband! Oh.

Fran.
My dear father! [Exeunt Widow and Frances.

Mary.

Here's a puling indeed! I think my mother weeps for all the women that ever buried husbands; for if from time to time all the widowers' tears^{6 note}

Sir God.

Well, go thy ways, old sir Godfrey, and thou may'st be proud on't; thou hast a kind loving

sister-in-law. How constant! how passionate! how full of April the poor soul's eyes are! Well, I would my brother knew on't; he should then know what a kind wife he had left behind him. 'Truth, an 'twere not for shame that the neighbours at the next garden should hear me, between joy and grief I should e'en cry outright.

Edm.

So; a fair riddance! My father's laid in dust; his coffin and he is like a whole meat-pye, and the worms will cut him up shortly. Farewel, old dad, farewel! I'll be curb'd in no more. I perceive a son and heir may be quickly made a fool, an he will be one; but I'll take another order^{1 note}. Now she would have me weep for him forsooth; and why? because he cozen'd the right heir being a fool, and bestow'd those lands on me his eldest son; and therefore I must weep for him; ha, ha! Why, all the world knows, as long as 'twas his pleasure to get me, 'twas his duty to get for me: I know the law in that point; no attorney can gull me. Well, my uncle is an old ass, and an admirable coxcomb. I'll rule the roast myself; I'll be kept under no more; I know what I may do well enough by my father's copy: the law's in mine own hands now. Nay, now I know my strength, I'll be strong enough for my mother, I warrant you.

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