Chapter 14

_The Street before the House of Anselm's Mother_.

_Enter_ MISTRESS ARTHUR, _poorly_.

MRS ART. O, what are the vain pleasures of the world, That in their actions we affect them so? Had I been born a servant, my low life Had steady stood from all these miseries. The waving reeds stand free from every gust, When the tall oaks are rent up by the roots. What is vain beauty but an idle breath? Why are we proud of that which so soon changes? But rather wish the beauty of the mind, Which neither time can alter, sickness change, Violence deface, nor the black hand of envy Smudge and disgrace, or spoil, or make deform'd. O, had my riotous husband borne this mind, He had been happy, I had been more blest, And peace had brought our quiet souls to rest.

_Enter_ YOUNG MASTER ARTHUR.

Y. ART. O, whither shall I fly to save my life When murder and despair dogs at my heels? O misery! thou never found'st a friend; All friends forsake men in adversity: My brother hath denied to succour me, Upbraiding me with name of murderer; My uncles double-bar their doors against me; My father hath denied to shelter me, And curs'd me worse than Adam did vile Eve. I that, within these two days, had more friends Than I could number with arithmetic, Have now no more than one poor cypher is, And that poor cypher I supply myself: All that I durst commit my fortunes to, I have tried, and find none to relieve my wants. My sudden flight and fear of future shame Left me unfurnish'd of all necessaries, And these three days I have not tasted food.

MRS ART. It is my husband; O, how just is heaven! Poorly disguis'd, and almost hunger-starv'd! How comes this change?

Y. ART. Doth no man follow me? O, how suspicious guilty murder is! I starve for hunger, and I die for thirst. Had I a kingdom, I would sell my crown For a small bit of bread: I shame to beg, And yet, perforce, I must or beg or starve. This house, belike, 'longs to some gentlewoman, And here's a woman: I will beg of her. Good mistress, look upon a poor man's wants. Whom do I see? tush! Arthur, she is dead. But that I saw her dead and buried, I would have sworn it had been Arthur's wife; But I will leave her; shame forbids me beg Of one so much resembles her.

MRS ART. Come hither, fellow! wherefore dost thou turn Thy guilty looks and blushing face aside? It seems thou hast not been brought up to this.

Y. ART. You say true, mistress; then for charity, And for her sake whom you resemble most. Pity my present want and misery.

MRS ART. It seems thou hast been in some better plight; Sit down, I prythee: men, though they be poor, Should not be scorn'd; to ease thy hunger, first Eat these conserves; and now, I prythee, tell me What thou hast been--thy fortunes, thy estate, And what she was that I resemble most?

Y. ART. First, look that no man see or overhear us: I think that shape was born to do me good. [_Aside_.]

MRS ART. Hast thou known one that did resemble me?

Y. ART. Ay, mistress; I cannot choose but weep To call to mind the fortunes of her youth.

MRS ART. Tell me, of what estate or birth was she?

Y. ART, Born of good parents, and as well brought up; Most fair, but not so fair as virtuous; Happy in all things but her marriage; Her riotous husband, which I weep to think, By his lewd life, made them both miscarry.

MRS ART. Why dost thou grieve at their adversities?

Y. ART. O, blame me not; that man my kinsman was, Nearer to me a kinsman could not be; As near allied was that chaste woman too, Nearer was never husband to his wife; He whom I term my friend, no friend of mine, Proving both mine and his own enemy, Poison'd his wife--O, the time he did so! Joyed at her death, inhuman slave to do so! Exchang'd her love for a base strumpet's lust; Foul wretch! accursed villain! to exchange so.

MRS ART. You are wise and blest, and happy to repent so: But what became of him and his new wife?

Y. ART. O, hear the justice of the highest heaven: This strumpet, in reward of all his love, Pursues him for the death of his first wife; And now the woful husband languisheth, And flies abroad,[23] pursu'd by her fierce hate; And now too late he doth repent his sin, Ready to perish in his own despair, Having no means but death to rid his care.

MRS ART. I can endure no more, but I must weep; My blabbing tears cannot my counsel keep. [_Aside_.

Y. ART. Why weep you, mistress? if you had the heart Of her whom you resemble in your face-- But she is dead, and for her death The sponge of either eye Shall weep red tears, till every vein is dry.

MRS ART. Why weep you, friend? your rainy drops pray keep; Repentance wipes away the drops of sin. Yet tell me, friend--he did exceeding ill, A wife that lov'd and honour'd him to kill. Yet say one like her, far more chaste than fair, Bids him be of good comfort, not despair. Her soul's appeased with his repentant tears, Wishing he may survive her many years. Fain would I give him money to supply His present wants, but fearing he should fly, And getting over to some foreign shore, These rainy eyes should never see him more. My heart is full, I can no longer stay, But what I am, my love must needs bewray. [_Aside_. Farewell, good fellow, and take this to spend; Say, one like her commends her to your friend. [_Exit_.

Y. ART. No friend of mine. I was my own soul's foe, To murther my chaste wife, that lov'd me so! In life she lov'd me dearer than her life: What husband here but would wish such a wife? I hear the officers with hue and cry; She saved my life but now, and now I die. And welcome, death! I will not stir from hence; Death I deserv'd, I'll die for this offence.

_Enter_ BRABO, _with_ OFFICERS, MISTRESS SPLAY, _and_ HUGH.

BRA. Here is the murderer; and, Reason's man, You have the warrant: sirs, lay hands on him; Attach the slave, and lead him bound to death.

HUGH. No, by my faith, Master Brabo, you have the better heart, at least you should have; I am sure you have more iron and steel than I have; do you lay hands on him; I promise you I dare not.

BRA. Constables, forward; forward, officers; I will not thrust my finger in the fire. Lay hands on him, I say: why step you back? I mean to be the hindmost, lest that any Should run away, and leave the rest in peril. Stand forward: are you not asham'd to fear?

Y. ART. Nay, never strive; behold, I yield myself. I must commend your resolution That, being so many and so weapon'd, Dare not adventure on a man unarm'd. Now, lead me to what prison you think best. Yet use me well; I am a gentleman.

HUGH. Truly, Master Arthur, we will use you as well as heart can think; the justices sit to-day, and my master is chief: you shall command me.

BRA. What! hath he yielded? if he had withstood us, This curtle-axe of mine had cleft his head; Resist he durst not, when he once spied me. Come, lead him hence: how lik'st thou this, sweet witch? This fellow's death will make our mistress rich.

MRS SPLAY. I say, I care not who's dead or alive, So by their lives or deaths we two may thrive.

HUGH. Come, bear him away.

[_Exeunt_.