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A Yorkshire Tragedy (Third Folio, 1664)
76
A York-Shire Tragedy.
92Dice and voluptuous meetings, midnight Revels,
94The ancient honour of his House and Name:
95And this not all, but that which kills me most,
98Not as a man repentant, but half mad,
99His fortunes cannot answer his expence:
101Forgetting heaven, looks downward, which makes
102Him appear so dreadfull, that he frights my heart:
103Walks heavily, as if his soule were earth;
105But vext, his money cannot make them last:
106A fearfull melancholy, ungodly sorrow.
107Oh yonder he comes, now in despight of ills
109And do my best to drive it from his heart.
110Enter Husband.
113I'me damn'd, Ime damn'd, the Angels have forsook me;
114Nay 'tis certainly true: for he that has no coyn,
115Is damn'd in this world; he's gone, he's gone.
123Both beggery of the soule as of the body,
126Enter Husband again.
127He comes again,
129Spoke lesse then words of duty and of love.
130 Hus. If marriage be honourable, then Cuckolds are
131honourable, for they cannot be made without marriage.
132Fool, what meant I to marry to get Beggars?
134not live but upoth' fool, for he will have no Land to
136inheritance, and makes me chaw upon Iron.
138Thief, or an under-putter, a Slave Pander.
140I think the Devil scorns to be a Bawd:
141He beares himself more proudly, has more care on his
142credite.
148Yet what is mine, either in Rings or Jewels,
150As you are a Gentleman by many bloods,
153You have been Father to.
155begot in tricks.
158Oh call to mind your Lands already morgag'd,
159Your self wound into debts, your hopefull Brother
160At the University into bonds for you,
161Like to be seiz'd upon. And-----
162 Hus. Ha done, thou Harlot,
163Whom though for fashion I married,
164I never could abide. Think'st thou thy words
166Thou and thy Bastards beg, I will not bate
167A whit in humour: Midnight still I love you,
168And revel in your company: curb'd in?
171No, those thy Jewels I will play as freely,
175He spurns her.
176I will for ever hold thee in contempt,
177And never touch the Sheets that cover thee,
178But be divorc't in bed, till thou consent,
181 Wife. Sir, do but turn a gentle eye on me,
182And what the law shall give me leave to do,
183You shall command.
185And like a Slave wear nothing in my pockets,
186Holds his Hands in his Pockets.
187But my hands to fill them up with nayles?
188Oh much against my blood, let it be done,
189I was never made to be a loker on:
191And make them yield, I say look it be done.
194a Wife, a trouble, trouble, three Children like three evils
196pet and bastards.
197Enter three Gentlemen, hearing him.
199Tongue?
202Endangers others, but he's more then mad
209Exeunt Gent.
210Enter a Servant.
211How now sirrha? what would you?
213met by the way, by them who were sent for her up to
214London by her honourable Unckle, your Worships late
215Guardian.
But
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