Yes indeed, sir.

 

Enter Mute

 

MOR. What, sirrah. None of my knaves, there? Where is this impostor, Cutbeard?

EPI. Speak to him, fellow, speak to him. I'll have none of this coacted, unnatural dumbness in my house, in a family where I govern.

 

Exit Mute

 

MOR. She is my Regent already! I have married a Penthesilea, a Semiramis, sold my liberty to a distaff!

 

Scene 5

Enter Truewit

 

TRU. Where's Master Morose?

MOR. Is he come again! Lord have mercy upon me.

TRU. I wish you all joy, Mistress Epicoene, with your grave and honourable match.

EPI. I return you the thanks, Master Truewit, so friendly a wish deserves.

MOR. She has acquaintance, too!

TRU. God save you, sir, and give you all contentment in your fair choice, here. Before I was the bird of night to you, the owl, but now I am the messenger of peace, a dove, and bring you the glad wishes of many friends, to the celebration of this good hour.

MOR. What hour, sir?

TRU. Your marriage hour, sir. I commend your resolution, that (notwithstanding all the dangers I laid afore you, in the voice of a night-crow) would yet go on, and be yourself. It shows you are a man constant to your own ends, and upright to your purposes, that would not be put off with left- handed cries.

MOR. How should you arrive at the knowledge of so much!

TRU. Why, did you ever hope, sir, committing the secrecy of it to a barber, that less than the whole town should know it? You might as well ha' told it the conduit, or the bakehouse, or the infantry that follow the court, and with more security. Could your gravity forget so old and noted a remnant as lippis et tonsoribus notum? Well, sir, forgive it yourself now, the fault, and be communicable with your friends. Here will be three or four fashionable ladies from the college to visit you presently, and their train of minions and followers.

MOR. Bar my doors! Bar my doors! Where are all my eaters? My mouths now? Bar up my doors, you varlets.

EPI. He is a varlet, that stirs to such an office. Let 'em stand open. I would see him that dares move his eyes toward it. Shall I have a barricado made against my friends, to be barred of any pleasure they can bring in to me with honourable visitation?

MOR. Oh Amazonian impudence!

TRU. Nay faith, in this, sir, she speaks but reason: and methinks is more continent than you. Would you go to bed so presently, sir, afore noon? A man of your head and hair should owe more to that reverend ceremony, and not mount the marriage- bed like a town-bull, or a mountain-goat; but stay the due season; and ascend it then with religion and fear. Those delights are to be steeped in the humour and silence of the night; and give the day to other open pleasures and jollities of feast, of music, of revels, of discourse: we'll have all, sir, that may make your Hymen high, and happy.

MOR.