st a lover but three days, thou wilt be heartless,
sleepless, witless, mad, wretched, miserable, and indeed a stark fool;
and by that thou hast been married but three weeks, though thou shouldst
wed a _Cynthia rara avis_, thou wouldst be a man monstrous--a cuckold,
a cuckold.

BAR. And why is a cuckold monstrous, knight?

ILF. Why, because a man is made a beast by being married. Take but
example thyself from the moon: as soon as she is delivered of her great
belly, doth she not point at the world with a pair of horns, as who
would say: Married men, ye are cuckolds.

SCAR. I construe more divinely of their sex:
Being maids, methinks they are angels; and being wives,
They are sovereign cordials that preserve our lives,[339]
They are like our hands that feed us; this is clear,
They renew man, as spring renews the year.

ILF. There's ne'er a wanton wench that hears thee, but thinks thee a
coxcomb for saying so: marry none of them; if thou wilt have their true
characters, I'll give it thee. Women are the purgatory of men's purses,
the paradise of their bodies, and the hell of their minds; marry none of
them. Women[340] are in churches saints, abroad angels, at home devils.
Here are married men enough know this: marry none of them.

SCAR. Men that traduce by custom, show sharp wit
Only in speaking ill; and practice it
Against the best creatures, divine women,
Who are God's agents' here, and the heavenly eye,
By which this orb hath her maturity:
Beauty in women gets the world with child,
Without whom she were barren, faint and wild.
They are the stems on which do angels grow,
From whence virtue is still'd, and arts do flow.

_Enter_ SIR JOHN HARCOP _and his daughter_ CLARE.

ILF. Let them be what flowers they will; and they were roses, I will
pluck none of them for pricking my fingers. But soft, here comes a
voider for us: and I see, do what I can, as long as the world lasts,
there will be cuckolds in it. Do you hear, child, here's one come to
blend you together: he has brought you a kneading-tub, if thou dost
take her at his hands.
Though thou hadst Argus' eyes, be sure of this,
Women have sworn with more than one to kiss.

HAR. Nay, no parting, gentlemen. Hem!

WEN. 'Sfoot, does he make punks of us, that he hems already?

HAR. Gallants,
Know old John Harcop keeps a wine-cellar,
Has travell'd, been at court, known fashions,
And unto all bear habit like yourselves--
The shapes of gentlemen and men of sort