But I do think it is their husbands' faults
If wives do fall.
Say that they slack their
duties
And pour our treasures into foreign laps,
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint upon us. Or say they strike
us,
Or scant our former having in despite.
Why, we have galls, and though we have some
grace,
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
Their wives have sense like them. They see
and smell
And have their palates both for sweet and
sour,
As husbands have. What is it that they do
When they change us for others? Is it sport?
I think it is. And doth affection breed it?
I think it doth. Is ’t frailty that thus
errs?
It is so too. And have not we affections,
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?
Then let them use us well, else let them know,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.
