_Lady_. But why this expedition, this posting out of towne as the Aire were infected?

_Sir Rich_. The[222] truth is, my sweet Ladie, we have no Exchange in the Country, no playes, no Masques, no Lord Maiors day, no gulls nor gallifoists[223]. Not so many Ladies to visit and weare out my Coach wheeles, no dainty Madams in Childbedd to set you a longing when you come home to lie in with the same fashion'd Curtaines and hangings, such curious silver Andirons, Cupbord of plate and pictures. You may goe to Church in the Countrey without a new Satten gowne, and play at penny gleeke[224] with a Justice of peaces wife and the parsons; show your white hand with but one Diamond when you carve and not be asham'd to weare your owne wedding ring with the old poesie. There are no Doctors to make you sick wife; no legends of lies brought home by yong gallants that fill my Dyning roome with fleas and new fashions, that will write verses upon the handle of your fanne and comend the education of your Monkey, which is so like their worships as they were all of one familie. I have no humour to provokeing meates; I will downe and enter into a Christian diett, Madam. There is sport in killing my owne partridge and pheasant; my Trowtes will cost me less than your Lobsters and crayfish drest with amber greece[225], and I may renew my acquaintance with mutton and bold chines of beefe; entertaine my tenants, that would pay for my housekeeping all the yeere and thanke my worship at Christmas, over and above their rents, with Turkies and Beeves of supererogation. You may guesse I have some reason to change the aire, wife, and so I leave you to prepare your selfe: You have my purpose and may expect mee. [_Exit_.

A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II — Part 147

_Lady_. However he may pretend, and point at charge Which makes his stay unpleasant, 'tis his Jelousie That strikes him into wildnes and dislike Of all things here: he does not use mee well. --Where is my sister?

A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II — Part 147

_Do_. In the Closet, Madam. --I must waite upon my Ladie, sweete Captaine.

A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II — Part 147

_Un_. This Wench has a notable witt, if I have any Judgment: I doe not thinke but shee's in love with me. If I thought shee were not given to be with child I would examine her abilities; but these waiting women are so fruitfull, when they have a good turne from a gentleman they have not the vertue of concealment: touch a Chambermaide and take a Child, --everything workes with their soluble bodies.