He sits and sullenly locks up his Arms,
Forgetting heaven looks downward, which makes him
Appear so dreadful that he frights my heart,
Walks heavily, as if his soul were earth:
Not penitent for those his sins are past,
But vext his money cannot make them last:--
A fearful melancholy, ungodly sorrow.
Oh yonder he comes, now in despite of ills
I'll speak to him, and I will hear him speak,
And do my best to drive it from his heart.

[Enter Husband.]

HUSBAND.
Pox oth Last throw! it made
Five hundred Angels vanish from my sight.
I'm damnd, I'm damnd: the Angels have forsook me.
Nay, tis certainly true: for he that has
No coin is damnd in this world: he's gone, he's gone.

WIFE.
Dear husband.

HUSBAND.
Oh! most punishment of all, I have a wife.

WIFE.
I do intreat you as you love your soul,
Tell me the cause of this your discontent.