Part 22

Mont. Ber lady, a likely suspition, and very neere the life--especially of my wife.

Mons. Come, we'l disguise all with seeming onely to have courted.--Away, dry palm! sh'as a livor as dry as a bisket; a man may goe a 245 whole voyage with her, and get nothing but tempests from her windpipe.

Gui. Here's one (I think) has swallowed a porcupine, shee casts pricks from her tongue so.

Mont. And here's a peacock seemes to have 250 devour'd one of the Alpes, she has so swelling a spirit, & is so cold of her kindnes.

Char. We are no windfalls, my lord; ye must gather us with the ladder of matrimony, or we'l hang till we be rotten. 255

Mons. Indeed, that's the way to make ye right openarses. But, alas, ye have no portions fit for such husbands as we wish you.

Per. Portions, my lord! yes, and such portions as your principality cannot purchase. 260

Mons. What, woman, what are those portions?

Per. Riddle my riddle, my lord.

Mons. I, marry, wench, I think thy portion is a right riddle; a man shall never finde it out: but let's heare it. 265

Per. You shall, my lord. What's that, that being most rar's most cheap? That when you sow, you never reap? That when it growes most, most you in it, And still you lose it, when you win it? 270 That when tis commonest, tis dearest, And when tis farthest off, 'tis neerest?

Mons. Is this your great portion?

Per. Even this, my lord.

Mons. Beleeve me, I cannot riddle it. 275

Per. No, my lord; tis my chastity, which you shall neither riddle nor fiddle.

Mons. Your chastity! Let me begin with the end of it; how is a womans chastity neerest man, when tis furthest off? 280

Per. Why, my lord, when you cannot get it, it goes to th'heart on you; and that I think comes most neere you: and I am sure it shall be farre enough off. And so wee leave you to our mercies. Exeunt Women.

Mons. Farewell, riddle. 285

Gui. Farewell, medlar.

Mont. Farewell, winter plum.

Mons. Now, my lords, what fruit of our inquisition? feele you nothing budding yet? Speak, good my lord Montsurry. 290

Mont. Nothing but this: D'Ambois is thought negligent in observing the Duchesse, and therefore she is suspicious that your neece or my wife closely entertaines him.

Mons. Your wife, my lord! Think you that 295 possible?

Mont. Alas, I know she flies him like her last houre.

Mons. Her last houre? Why that comes upon her the more she flies it. Does D'Ambois so, 300 think you?

Mont. That's not worth the answering. Tis miraculous to think with what monsters womens imaginations engrosse them when they are once enamour'd, and what wonders they will work 305 for their satisfaction. They will make a sheepe valiant, a lion fearefull.

Mons. And an asse confident. Well, my lord, more will come forth shortly; get you to the banquet. 310

Gui. Come, my lord, I have the blind side of one of them. Exit Guise cum Mont[surry].