This is my comfort: though thou doost no good,
A mighty ebb follows a mighty flood.

MISTRESS BANISTER.
O thou base wretch, whom we have fostered
Even as a Serpent for to poison us,
If God did ever right a woman's wrong,
To that same God I bend and bow my heart,
To let his heavy wrath fall on thy head,
By whom my hopes and joys are butchered.

BAGOT.
Alas, fond woman, I pray thee, pray thy worst;
The Fox fares better still when he is curst.

[Enter Master Bowser, a Merchant.]

GOVERNOUR.
Master Bowser! you're welcome, sir, from England.
What's the best news? how doth all our friends?

BOWSER.
They are all well and do commend them to you:
There's letters from your brother and your son:
So fair you well, sir; I must take my leave.
My haste and business doth require such.

GOVERNOUR.
Before you dine, sir? What, go you out of town?