sweets of marriage rites:
And then he sets my name, and kisses it,
Wishing my lips his sheet to write upon;
With like desire (methinks) as mine own thoughts
Ask him now here for me to look upon;
Yet at the last thinking his love too slack,
Ere it arrive at my desired eyes,
He hastens up his message with like speed,
Even as I break this ope, wishing to read.
O, what is here? mine eyes are not mine own;
Sure, sure, they are not. [O eyes,]
Though you have been my lamps this sixteen years,
[_Lets fall the letter_.
You do belie my Scarborow reading so;
_Forgive him, he is married_, that were ill:
What lying lights are these? look, I have no such letter,
No wedded syllable of the least wrong
Done to a trothplight virgin like myself.
Beshrew you for your blindness: _Forgive him, he is married_!
I know my Scarborow's constancy to me
Is as firm knit as faith to charity,
That I shall kiss him often, hug him thus,
Be made a happy and a fruitful mother
Of many prosperous children like to him;
And read I, he was married! ask'd forgiveness?
What a blind fool was I; yet here's a letter,
To whom, directed too? _To my beloved Clare_.
Why, la!
Women will read, and read not that they saw.
'Twas but my fervent love misled mine eyes,
I'll once again to the inside, _Forgive me, I am married;
William Scarborow_. He has set his name to't too.
O perjury! within the hearts of men
Thy feasts are kept, their tongue proclaimeth them.

_Enter_ THOMAS SCARBOROW.

THOM. Sister, God's precious, the cloth's laid, the meat cools, we all
stay, and your father calls for you.

CLARE. Kind sir, excuse me, I pray you, a little;
I'll but peruse this letter, and come straight.

THOM. Pray you, make haste, the meat stays for us, and our stomach's
ready for the meat; for believe this--
Drink makes men hungry, or it makes them lie,[369]
And he that's drunk o'er night, i'th'morning's dry:
Seen and approved. [_Exit_.

CLARE. He was contracted mine, yet he unjust
Hath married to another: what's my estate, then?
A wretched maid, not fit for any man;
For being united his with plighted faiths,
Whoever sues to me commits a sin,
Besiegeth me; and who shall marry me,
Is like myself, lives in adultery. O God,
That such hard fortune should betide my youth!
I am young, fair, rich, honest, virtuous,
Yet for all this, whoe'er shall marry me,
I'm but his whore, live in adultery.
I cannot step into the path of pleasure
For