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.