Yet doth he keep in every corner trulls;

And when he’s weary with his trugs at home,

Then rides he straight to London; there, forsooth, 500

500

He revels it among such filthy ones

As counsels him to make away his wife.

Thus live I daily in continual fear,

In sorrow; so despairing of redress

As every day I wish with hearty prayer

That he or I were taken forth the world.

Greene. Now trust me, Mistress Alice, it grieveth me

So fair a creature should be so abused.

Why, who would have thought the civil sir so sullen?

He looks so smoothly. Now, fie upon him, churl! 510

510

And if he live a day, he lives too long.

But frolic, woman! I shall be the man

Shall set you free from all this discontent;

And if the churl deny my interest

And will not yield my lease into my hand,

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