BEN. Hey toss! What's the matter now? Why, you ben't angry, be
you?
MRS FRAIL. Oh, see me no more,--for thou wert born amongst rocks,
suckled by whales, cradled in a tempest, and whistled to by winds;
and thou art come forth with fins and scales, and three rows of
teeth, a most outrageous fish of prey.
BEN. O Lord, O Lord, she's mad, poor young woman: love has turned
her senses, her brain is quite overset. Well-a-day, how shall I do
to set her to rights?
MRS FRAIL. No, no, I am not mad, monster; I am wise enough to find
you out. Hadst thou the impudence to aspire at being a husband with
that stubborn and disobedient temper? You that know not how to
submit to a father, presume to have a sufficient stock of duty to
undergo a wife? I should have been finely fobbed indeed, very
finely fobbed.
BEN. Harkee, forsooth; if so be that you are in your right senses,
d'ye see, for ought as I perceive I'm like to be finely fobbed,--if
I have got anger here upon your account, and you are tacked about
already. What d'ye mean, after all your fair speeches, and stroking
my cheeks, and kissing and hugging, what would you sheer off so?
Would you, and leave me aground?
MRS FRAIL. No, I'll leave you adrift, and go which way you will.
BEN. What, are you false-hearted, then?
MRS FRAIL. Only the wind's changed.
BEN. More shame for you,--the wind's changed? It's an ill wind
blows nobody good,--mayhap I have a good riddance on you, if these
be your tricks.
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