You shall command.

HUSBAND.
Look it be done: shall I want dust and like a slave
Wear nothing in my pockets but my hands
To fill them up with nails?

[holding his hands in his pockets]

Oh much against my blood! Let it be done.
I was never made to be a looker on,
A bawd to dice; I'll shake the drabs my self
And made em yield. I say, look it be done.

WIFE.
I take my leave: it shall.

[Exit.]

HUSBAND.
Speedily, speedily. I hate the very hour I chose a wife: a
trouble, trouble! three children like three evils hang upon
me. Fie, fie, fie, strumpet and bastards, strumpet and
bastards!

[Enter three Gentlemen hearing him.]

1 GENTLEMAN.
Still do those loathsome thoughts
Jar on your tongue?