I charge thee speak to this mistrustful man,

Thou that wouldst see me hang, thou, Mosbie, thou:

What favour hast thou had more than a kiss

At coming or departing from the town?

Mosbie. You wrong yourself and me to cast these doubts:

Your loving husband is not jealous. 380

380

Arden. Why, gentle Mistress Alice, cannot I be ill

But you’ll accuse yourself?

Franklin, thou hast a box of mithridate;

I’ll take a little to prevent the worst.

Franklin. Do so, and let us presently take horse;

My life for yours, ye shall do well enough.

Alice. Give me a spoon, I’ll eat of it myself;

Would it were full of poison to the brim,

Then should my cares and troubles have an end.

Was ever silly woman so tormented? 390

390

[17]

Arden. Be patient, sweet love; I mistrust not thee.

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