At your old tricks again! No sleep induced
By song of yours, or any other bird's,
Can linger long when you begin to talk.
Grace, box your sister's ears for me, and save
The trouble of my rising.

_Ruth_.

[_Advancing and kneeling by the side of Grace_.]

Sister mine.
Now give the proof of your obedience
To your imperious lord! Strike, if you dare!
I'll wake your baby if you lift your hand.
Ha! king; ha! poet; who is master now--
Baby or husband? Pr'ythee, tell me that.
Were I a man,--thank Heaven I am not!--
And had a wife who cared not for my will
More than your wife for yours, I'd hang myself,
Or wear an [***]. See! she kisses me!

_David_.

And answers to my will, though well she knows
I'll spare to her so terrible a task,
And take the awful burden on myself;
Which I will do, in future, if she please!

_Ruth_.