Alice. God will revenge it, Arden, if thou dost;

For never woman loved her husband better

Than I do thee.

Arden. I know it, sweet Alice; cease to complain,

Lest that in tears I answer thee again.

Franklin. Come, leave this dallying, and let us away.

Alice. Forbear to wound me with that bitter word;

Arden shall go to London in my arms.

Arden. Loth am I to depart, yet I must go. 400

400

Alice. Wilt thou to London, then, and leave me here?

Ah, if thou love me, gentle Arden, stay.

Yet, if thy business be of great import

Go, if thou wilt, I’ll bear it as I may;

But write from London to me every week,

Nay, every day, and stay no longer there

Than thou must needs, lest that I die for sorrow.

Arden. I’ll write unto thee every other tide,

And so farewell, sweet Alice, till we meet next.

Alice. Farewell, husband, seeing you’ll have it so; 410

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