Gen. Why, hast thou any hope?

Wife. Yes, sir, I have.

Gen. Make it appear to me.

Wife. I hope I never bargain'd for that fire,
Further than penitent tears have power to quench.
Gen. I would see some of them.
Wife. You behold them now

(If you look on me with charitable eyes)
Tinctur'd in blood, blood issuing from the heart.
Sir, I am sorry; when I look towards heaven,
I beg a gracious pardon; when on you,
Methinks your native goodness should not be
Less pitiful than they: 'gainst both I have err'd;
From both I beg atonement.

Gen. May I presume 't?

Wife. I kneel to both your mercies.
Gen. Knowest thou what

A witch is?

Wife. Alas, none better;

Or after mature recollection can be
More sad to think on't.

Gen. Tell me, are those tears
As full of true-hearted penitence,
As mine of sorrow to behold what state,
What desperate state, thou r't faln in?

Wife. Sir, they are.

Gen. Rise; and, as I do you, so heaven pardon me ;

We all offend, but from such falling off

Defend us! Well, I do remember, wife,

When I first took thee, 'twas for good and bad:
O change thy bad to good, that I may keep thee
(As then we past our faiths) 'till Death us sever.
O woman, thou hast need to weep thyself
Into a fountain, such a penitent spring

As may have power to quench invisible flames;
In which my eyes shall aid: too little, all*.

Frank Hospitality,

Gentlemen, welcome; 'tis a word I use;
From me expect no further compliment;
Nor do I name it often at one meeting;
Once spoke, to those that understand me best,
And know I always purpose as I speak,
Hath ever yet sufficed: so let it you.
Nor do I love that common phrase of guests,
As, we make bold, or, we are troublesome,
We take you unprovided, and the like;
I know you understanding Gentlemen,
And knowing me, cannot persuade yourselves
With me you shall be troublesome or bold.-
Nor shall you find

Being set to meat, that I'll excuse your fare,
it falls out so poor,

Or say, I am sorry

And, had I known your coming, we'd have had
Such things and such; nor blame my Cook, to say
This dish or that hath not been sauc't with care:
Words fitting best a common hostess' mouth,
When there's perhaps some just cause of dislike;
But not the table of a Gentleman.

Compare this with a story in the Arabian Nights, where a man discovers his wife to be a goul.

A FAIR QUARREL: A COMEDY. BY THOMAS MIDDLETON AND WILLIAM ROWLEY.

Captain Ager in a dispute with a Colonel his friend, receives from the Colonel the appellation of Son of a Whore. A challenge is given and accepted: but the Captain, before he goes to the field, is willing to be confirmed of his mother's honor from her own lips. Lady Ager, being questioned by her Son, to prevent a duel, falsely slanders herself of unchastity. The Captain, thinking that he has a bad cause, refuses to fight. But being reproached by the Colonel with cowardice, he esteems that he has now a sufficient cause for a quarrel, in the vindicating of his honor from that aspersion; and draws, and disarms his opponent.

La. Where left you your dear friend the Colonel? Cap. Oh the dear Colonel, I should meet him soon. La. Oh fail him not then, he's a Gentleman

The fame and reputation of your time

Is much engag'd to.

Cap. Yes, and you knew all, mother.

La. I thought I'd known so much of his fair goodness, More could not have been look'd for.

Cap. O yes, yes, Madam:

And this his last exceeded all the rest.

La. For gratitude's sake let me know this I prithee. Cap. Then thus; and I desire your censure freely, Whether it appear'd not a strange noble kindness in him. La. Trust me, I long to hear't.

Cap. You know he's hasty;

That by the way.

La. So are the best conditions:

Your father was the like.

Cap. I begin now

To doubt me more: why am not I so too then?
Blood follows blood through forty generations;
And I've a slow-pac'd wrath: a shrewd dilemma.—

La. Well, as you were saying, Sir.
Cap. Marry, thus, good Madam.

There was in company a foul-mouth'd villain
Stay, stay,

Who should I liken him to that you have seen?

(aside.)

He comes so near one that I would not match him with, Faith, just o' the Colonel's pitch: he's ne'er the worse

man;

Usurers have been compar'd to magistrates,

Extortioners to lawyers, and the like,

But they all prove ne'er the worse men for that.
La. That's bad enough, they need not.

Cap. This rude fellow,

A shame to all humanity and manners,

Breathes from the rottenness of his gall and malice,
The foulest stain that ever man's fame blemish'd,
Part of which fell upon your honor, madam,
Which heighten'd my affliction.

La. Mine, my honor, Sir?

Cap. The Colonel soon enrag'd (as he's all touchwood) Takes fire before me, makes the quarrel his,

Appoints the field; my wrath could not be heard,

His was so high pitcht, so gloriously mounted.
Now what's the friendly fear that fights within me,
Should his brave noble fury undertake

A cause that were unjust in our defence,
And so to lose him everlastingly,

In that dark depth where all bad quarrels sink

Never to rise again, what pity 'twere,

First to die here, and never to die there!

La. Why what's the quarrel, speak, Sir, that should rise Such fearful doubt, my honor bearing part on't? The words, whate'er they were

Cap. Son of a whore.

La. Thou liest :

And were my love ten thousand times more to thee,
Which is as much now as e'er mother's was,
So thou shouldst feel my anger. Dost thou call
That quarrel doubtful? where are all my merits?
[Strikes him.]

Not one stand up to tell this man his error?
Thou might'st as well call the Sun's truth in question,
As thy birth or my honor.

Cap. Now blessings crown you for 't;

It is the joyfull'st blow that e'er flesh felt.

La. Nay, stay, stay, Sir; thou art not left so soon: This is no question to be slighted off,

And at your pleasure closed up fair again,

As though you'd never touch'd it, no; honor doubted,
Is honor deeply wounded; and it rages

More than a common smart, being of thy making.
For thee to fear my truth it kills my comfort.
Where should fame seek for her reward, when he
That is her own by the great tye of blood
Is farthest off in bounty: O poor Goodness,
That only pay'st thyself with thy own works;
For nothing else looks towards thee. Tell me, pray,
Which of my loving cares dost thou requite
With this vile thought? which of my prayers or wishes?
Many thou ow'st me for. This seven year hast thou

known me

A widow, only married to my vow;

That's no small witness of my faith and love
To him that in life was thy honour'd father:
And live I now to know that good mistrusted?