ACT I
_A Room in Arden’s House._
_Enter Arden and Franklin._
_Franklin._ Arden, cheer up thy spirits, and droop no more! My gracious Lord, the Duke of Somerset, Hath freely given to thee and to thy heirs, By letters patents from his Majesty, All the lands of the Abbey of Feversham. Here are the deeds, [_He hands them._ Sealed and subscribed with his name and the king’s: Read them, and leave this melancholy mood.
_Arden._ Franklin, thy love prolongs my weary life; And but for thee how odious were this life, 10 That shows me nothing but torments my soul, And those foul objects that offend mine eyes! Which makes me wish that for this veil of heaven The earth hung over my head and covered me. Love-letters pass ’twixt Mosbie and my wife, And they have privy meetings in the town: Nay, on his finger did I spy the ring Which at our marriage-day the priest put on. Can any grief be half so great as this?
_Franklin._ Comfort thyself, sweet friend; it is not strange 20 That women will be false and wavering.
_Arden._ Ay, but to dote on such a one as he Is monstrous, Franklin, and intolerable.
_Franklin._ Why, what is he?
_Arden._ A botcher, and no better at the first; Who, by base brokage getting some small stock, Crept into service of a nobleman, And by his servile flattery and fawning Is now become the steward of his house, And bravely jets it in his silken gown. 30
_Franklin._ No nobleman will countenance such a peasant.
_Arden._ Yes, the Lord Clifford, he that loves not me. But through his favour let him not grow proud; For were he by the Lord Protector backed, He should not make me to be pointed at. I am by birth a gentleman of blood, And that injurious ribald, that attempts To violate my dear wife’s chastity (For dear I hold her love, as dear as heaven) Shall on the bed which he thinks to defile 40 See his dissevered joints and sinews torn, Whilst on the planchers pants his weary body, Smeared in the channels of his lustful blood.
_Franklin._ Be patient, gentle friend, and learn of me To ease thy grief and save her chastity: Intreat her fair; sweet words are fittest engines To race the flint walls of a woman’s breast. In any case be not too jealous, Nor make no question of her love to thee; But, as securely, presently take horse, 50 And lie with me at London all this term; For women, when they may, will not, But, being kept back, straight grow outrageous.
_Arden._ Though this abhors from reason, yet I’ll try it, And call her forth and presently take leave. How! Alice!
_Here enters Alice._
_Alice._ Husband, what mean you to get up so early? Summer-nights are short, and yet you rise ere day. Had I been wake, you had not risen so soon.
_Arden._ Sweet love, thou knowest that we two, Ovid-like, 60 Have often chid the morning when it ’gan to peep, And often wished that dark night’s purblind steeds Would pull her by the purple mantle back, And cast her in the ocean to her love. But this night, sweet Alice, thou hast killed my heart: I heard thee call on Mosbie in thy sleep.
_Alice._ ’Tis like I was asleep when I named him, For being awake he comes not in my thoughts.
_Arden._ Ay, but you started up and suddenly, Instead of him, caught me about the neck. 70
_Alice._ Instead of him? why, who was there but you? And where but one is, how can I mistake?
_Franklin._ Arden, leave to urge her over-far.
_Arden._ Nay, love, there is no credit in a dream; Let it suffice I know thou lovest me well.
_Alice._ Now I remember whereupon it came: Had we no talk of Mosbie yesternight?
_Franklin._ Mistress Alice, I heard you name him once or twice.
_Alice._ And thereof came it, and therefore blame not me.
_Arden._ I know it did, and therefore let it pass. 80 I must to London, sweet Alice, presently.
_Alice._ But tell me, do you mean to stay there long?
_Arden._ No longer there till my affairs be done.
_Franklin._ He will not stay above a month at most.
_Alice._ A month? ay me! Sweet Arden, come again Within a day or two, or else I die.
_Arden._ I cannot long be from thee, gentle Alice. Whilst Michael fetch our horses from the field, Franklin and I will down unto the quay; For I have certain goods there to unload. 90 Meanwhile prepare our breakfast, gentle Alice; For yet ere noon we’ll take horse and away.
[_Exeunt Arden and Franklin._
_Alice._ Ere noon he means to take horse and away! Sweet news is this. O that some airy spirit Would in the shape and likeness of a horse Gallop with Arden ’cross the Ocean, And throw him from his back into the waves! Sweet Mosbie is the man that hath my heart: And he usurps it, having nought but this, That I am tied to him by marriage. 100 Love is a God, and marriage is but words; And therefore Mosbie’s title is the best. Tush! whether it be or no, he shall be mine, In spite of him, of Hymen, and of rites.
_Here enters Adam of the Flower-de-luce._
And here comes Adam of the Flower-de-luce; I hope he brings me tidings of my love. --How now, Adam, what is the news with you? Be not afraid; my husband is now from home.
_Adam._ He whom you wot of, Mosbie, Mistress Alice, Is come to town, and sends you word by me 110 In any case you may not visit him.
_Alice._ Not visit him?
_Adam._ No, nor take no knowledge of his being here.
_Alice._ But tell me, is he angry or displeased?
_Adam._ It should seem so, for he is wondrous sad.
_Alice._ Were he as mad as raving Hercules, I’ll see him, I; and were thy house of force, These hands of mine should race it to the ground, Unless that thou wouldst bring me to my love.
_Adam._ Nay, and you be so impatient, I’ll be gone. 120
_Alice._ Stay, Adam, stay; thou wert wont to be my friend. Ask Mosbie how I have incurred his wrath; Bear him from me these pair of silver dice, With which we played for kisses many a time, And when I lost, I won, and so did he;-- Such winning and such losing Jove send me! And bid him, if his love do not decline, To come this morning but along my door, And as a stranger but salute me there: This may he do without suspect or fear. 130
_Adam._ I’ll tell him what you say, and so farewell.
[_Exit Adam._
_Alice._ Do, and one day I’ll make amends for all.-- I know he loves me well, but dares not come, Because my husband is so jealous, And these my narrow-prying neighbours blab, Hinder our meetings when we would confer. But, if I live, that block shall be removed, And, Mosbie, thou that comes to me by stealth, Shalt neither fear the biting speech of men, Nor Arden’s looks; as surely shall he die 140 As I abhor him and love only thee.
_Here enters Michael._
How now, Michael, whither are you going?
_Michael._ To fetch my master’s nag. I hope you’ll think on me.
_Alice._ Ay; but, Michael, see you keep your oath, And be as secret as you are resolute.
_Michael._ I’ll see he shall not live above a week.
_Alice._ On that condition, Michael, here’s my hand: None shall have Mosbie’s sister but thyself.
_Michael._ I understand the painter here hard by 150 Hath made report that he and Sue is sure.
_Alice._ There’s no such matter, Michael; believe it not.
_Michael._ But he hath sent a dagger sticking in a heart, With a verse or two stolen from a painted cloth, The which I hear the wench keeps in her chest. Well, let her keep it! I shall find a fellow That can both write and read and make rhyme too. And if I do--well, I say no more: I’ll send from London such a taunting letter As she shall eat the heart he sent with salt 160 And fling the dagger at the painter’s head.
_Alice._ What needs all this? I say that Susan’s thine.
_Michael._ Why, then I say that I will kill my master, Or anything that you will have me do.
_Alice._ But, Michael, see you do it cunningly.
_Michael._ Why, say I should be took, I’ll ne’er confess That you know anything; and Susan, being a maid, May beg me from the gallows of the sheriff.
_Alice._ Trust not to that, Michael.
_Michael._ You cannot tell me, I have seen it, I. 170 But, mistress, tell her, whether I live or die, I’ll make her more worth than twenty painters can; For I will rid mine elder brother away, And then the farm of Bolton is mine own. Who would not venture upon house and land, When he may have it for a right down blow?
_Here enters Mosbie._
_Alice._ Yonder comes Mosbie. Michael, get thee gone, And let not him nor any know thy drifts.
[_Exit Michael._
Mosbie, my love!
_Mosbie._ Away, I say, and talk not to me now. 180
_Alice._ A word or two, sweet heart, and then I will. ’Tis yet but early days, thou needst not fear.
_Mosbie._ Where is your husband?
_Alice._ ’Tis now high water, and he is at the quay.
_Mosbie._ There let him be; henceforward know me not.
_Alice._ Is this the end of all thy solemn oaths? Is this the fruit thy reconcilement buds? Have I for this given thee so many favours, Incurred my husband’s hate, and, out alas! Made shipwreck of mine honour for thy sake? 190 And dost thou say ‘henceforward know me not’? Remember, when I lock’d thee in my closet, What were thy words and mine; did we not both Decree to murder Arden in the night? The heavens can witness, and the world can tell, Before I saw that falsehood look of thine, ’Fore I was tangled with thy ’ticing speech, Arden to me was dearer than my soul,-- And shall be still: base peasant, get thee gone, And boast not of thy conquest over me, 200 Gotten by witchcraft and mere sorcery! For what hast thou to countenance my love, Being descended of a noble house, And matched already with a gentleman Whose servant thou may’st be!--and so farewell.
_Mosbie._ Ungentle and unkind Alice, now I see That which I ever feared, and find too true: A woman’s love is as the lightning-flame, Which even in bursting forth consumes itself. To try thy constancy have I been strange; 210 Would I had never tried, but lived in hope!
_Alice._ What need’st thou try me whom thou ne’er found false?
_Mosbie._ Yet pardon me, for love is jealous.
_Alice._ So lists the sailor to the mermaid’s song, So looks the traveller to the basilisk: I am content for to be reconciled, And that, I know, will be mine overthrow.
_Mosbie._ Thine overthrow? first let the world dissolve.
_Alice._ Nay, Mosbie, let me still enjoy thy love, And happen what will, I am resolute. 220 My saving husband hoards up bags of gold To make our children rich, and now is he Gone to unload the goods that shall be thine, And he and Franklin will to London straight.
_Mosbie._ To London, Alice? if thou’lt be ruled by me, We’ll make him sure enough for coming there.
_Alice._ Ah, would we could!
_Mosbie._ I happened on a painter yesternight, The only cunning man of Christendom; For he can temper poison with his oil, 230 That whoso looks upon the work he draws Shall, with the beams that issue from his sight, Suck venom to his breast and slay himself. Sweet Alice, he shall draw thy counterfeit, That Arden may, by gazing on it, perish.
_Alice._ Ay, but Mosbie, that is dangerous, For thou, or I, or any other else, Coming into the chamber where it hangs, may die.
_Mosbie._ Ay, but we’ll have it covered with a cloth And hung up in the study for himself. 240
_Alice._ It may not be, for when the picture’s drawn, Arden, I know, will come and show it me.
_Mosbie._ Fear not; we’ll have that shall serve the turn. This is the painter’s house; I’ll call him forth.
_Alice._ But Mosbie, I’ll have no such picture, I.
_Mosbie._ I pray thee leave it to my discretion. How! Clarke!
_Here enters Clarke._
Oh, you are an honest man of your word! you served me well.
_Clarke._ Why, sir, I’ll do it for you at any time, Provided, as you have given your word, 250 I may have Susan Mosbie to my wife. For, as sharp-witted poets, whose sweet verse Make heavenly gods break off their nectar draughts And lay their ears down to the lowly earth, Use humble promise to their sacred Muse, So we that are the poets’ favourites Must have a love: ay, Love is the painter’s muse, That makes him frame a speaking countenance, A weeping eye that witnesses heart’s grief. Then tell me, Master Mosbie, shall I have her? 260
_Alice._ ’Tis pity but he should; he’ll use her well.
_Mosbie._ Clarke, here’s my hand: my sister shall be thine.
_Clarke._ Then, brother, to requite this courtesy, You shall command my life, my skill, and all.
_Alice._ Ah, that thou couldst be secret.
_Mosbie._ Fear him not; leave; I have talked sufficient
_Clarke._ You know not me that ask such questions. Let it suffice I know you love him well, And fain would have your husband made away: Wherein, trust me, you show a noble mind, 270 That rather than you’ll live with him you hate, You’ll venture life, and die with him you love. The like will I do for my Susan’s sake.
_Alice._ Yet nothing could inforce me to the deed But Mosbie’s love. Might I without control Enjoy thee still, then Arden should not die: But seeing I cannot, therefore let him die.
_Mosbie._ Enough, sweet Alice; thy kind words makes me melt. Your trick of poisoned pictures we dislike; Some other poison would do better far. 280
_Alice._ Ay, such as might be put into his broth, And yet in taste not to be found at all.
_Clarke._ I know your mind, and here I have it for you. Put but a dram of this into his drink, Or any kind of broth that he shall eat, And he shall die within an hour after.
_Alice._ As I am a gentlewoman, Clarke, next day Thou and Susan shall be married.
_Mosbie._ And I’ll make her dowry more than I’ll talk of, Clarke.
_Clarke._ Yonder’s your husband. Mosbie, I’ll be gone. 290
_Here enters Arden and Franklin._
_Alice._ In good time see where my husband comes. Master Mosbie, ask him the question yourself.
[_Exit Clarke._
_Mosbie._ Master Arden, being at London yesternight, The Abbey lands, whereof you are now possessed, Were offered me on some occasion By Greene, one of Sir Antony Ager’s men: I pray you, sir, tell me, are not the lands yours? Hath any other interest herein?
_Arden._ Mosbie, that question we’ll decide anon. Alice, make ready my breakfast, I must hence. 300
[_Exit Alice._
As for the lands, Mosbie, they are mine By letters patents from his Majesty. But I must have a mandate for my wife; They say you seek to rob me of her love: Villain, what makes thou in her company? She’s no companion for so base a groom.
_Mosbie._ Arden, I thought not on her, I came to thee; But rather than I pocket up this wrong----
_Franklin._ What will you do, sir?
_Mosbie._ Revenge it on the proudest of you both. 310
[_Then Arden draws forth Mosbie’s sword._
_Arden._ So, sirrah; you may not wear a sword, The statute makes against artificers; I warrant that I do. Now use your bodkin, Your Spanish needle, and your pressing iron, For this shall go with me; and mark my words, You goodman botcher, ’tis to you I speak: The next time that I take thee near my house, Instead of legs I’ll make thee crawl on stumps.
_Mosbie._ Ah, Master Arden, you have injured me: I do appeal to God and to the world. 320
_Franklin._ Why, canst thou deny thou wert a botcher once?
_Mosbie._ Measure me what I am, not what I was.
_Arden._ Why, what art thou now but a velvet drudge, A cheating steward, and base-minded peasant?
_Mosbie._ Arden, now thou hast belched and vomited The rancorous venom of thy mis-swoll’n heart, Hear me but speak: as I intend to live With God and his elected saints in heaven, I never meant more to solicit her; And that she knows, and all the world shall see. 330 I loved her once;--sweet Arden, pardon me, I could not choose, her beauty fired my heart! But time hath quenched these over-raging coals; And, Arden, though I now frequent thy house, ’Tis for my sister’s sake, her waiting-maid, And not for hers. Mayest thou enjoy her long: Hell-fire and wrathful vengeance light on me, If I dishonour her or injure thee.
_Arden._ Mosbie, with these thy protestations The deadly hatred of my heart’s appeased, 340 And thou and I’ll be friends, if this prove true. As for the base terms I gave thee late, Forget them, Mosbie: I had cause to speak, When all the knights and gentlemen of Kent Make common table-talk of her and thee.
_Mosbie._ Who lives that is not touched with slanderous tongues?
_Franklin._ Then, Mosbie, to eschew the speech of men, Upon whose general bruit all honour hangs, Forbear his house.
_Arden._ Forbear it! nay, rather frequent it more: 350 The world shall see that I distrust her not. To warn him on the sudden from my house Were to confirm the rumour that is grown.
_Mosbie._ By my faith, sir, you say true, And therefore will I sojourn here a while, Until our enemies have talked their fill; And then, I hope, they’ll cease, and at last confess How causeless they have injured her and me.
_Arden._ And I will lie at London all this term To let them see how light I weigh their words. 360
_Here enters Alice._
_Alice._ Husband, sit down; your breakfast will be cold.
_Arden._ Come, Master Mosbie, will you sit with us?
_Mosbie._ I cannot eat, but I’ll sit for company.
_Arden._ Sirrah Michael, see our horse be ready.
_Alice._ Husband, why pause ye? why eat you not?
_Arden._ I am not well; there’s something in this broth That is not wholesome: didst thou make it, Alice?
_Alice._ I did, and that’s the cause it likes not you.
[_Then she throws down the broth on the ground._
There’s nothing that I do can please your taste; You were best to say I would have poisoned you. 370 I cannot speak or cast aside my eye, But he imagines I have stepped awry. Here’s he that you cast in my teeth so oft: Now will I be convinced or purge myself. I charge thee speak to this mistrustful man, Thou that wouldst see me hang, thou, Mosbie, thou: What favour hast thou had more than a kiss At coming or departing from the town?
_Mosbie._ You wrong yourself and me to cast these doubts: Your loving husband is not jealous. 380
_Arden._ Why, gentle Mistress Alice, cannot I be ill But you’ll accuse yourself? Franklin, thou hast a box of mithridate; I’ll take a little to prevent the worst.
_Franklin._ Do so, and let us presently take horse; My life for yours, ye shall do well enough.
_Alice._ Give me a spoon, I’ll eat of it myself; Would it were full of poison to the brim, Then should my cares and troubles have an end. Was ever silly woman so tormented? 390
_Arden._ Be patient, sweet love; I mistrust not thee.
_Alice._ God will revenge it, Arden, if thou dost; For never woman loved her husband better Than I do thee.
_Arden._ I know it, sweet Alice; cease to complain, Lest that in tears I answer thee again.
_Franklin._ Come, leave this dallying, and let us away.
_Alice._ Forbear to wound me with that bitter word; Arden shall go to London in my arms.
_Arden._ Loth am I to depart, yet I must go. 400
_Alice._ Wilt thou to London, then, and leave me here? Ah, if thou love me, gentle Arden, stay. Yet, if thy business be of great import Go, if thou wilt, I’ll bear it as I may; But write from London to me every week, Nay, every day, and stay no longer there Than thou must needs, lest that I die for sorrow.
_Arden._ I’ll write unto thee every other tide, And so farewell, sweet Alice, till we meet next.
_Alice._ Farewell, husband, seeing you’ll have it so; 410 And, Master Franklin, seeing you take him hence, In hope you’ll hasten him home, I’ll give you this.
[_And then she kisseth him._
_Franklin._ And if he stay, the fault shall not be mine. Mosbie, farewell, and see you keep your oath.
_Mosbie._ I hope he is not jealous of me now.
_Arden._ No, Mosbie, no; hereafter think of me As of your dearest friend, and so farewell.
[_Exeunt Arden, Franklin, and Michael._
_Alice._ I am glad he is gone; he was about to stay, But did you mark me then how I brake off?
_Mosbie._ Ay, Alice, and it was cunningly performed. 420 But what a villain is that painter Clarke!
_Alice._ Was it not a goodly poison that he gave? Why, he’s as well now as he was before. It should have been some fine confection That might have given the broth some dainty taste: This powder was too gross and populous.
_Mosbie._ But had he eaten but three spoonfuls more, Then had he died and our love continued.
_Alice._ Why, so it shall, Mosbie, albeit he live.
_Mosbie._ It is unpossible, for I have sworn 430 Never hereafter to solicit thee, Or, whilst he lives, once more importune thee.
_Alice._ Thou shalt not need, I will importune thee. What? shall an oath make thee forsake my love? As if I have not sworn as much myself And given my hand unto him in the church! Tush, Mosbie; oaths are words, and words is wind, And wind is mutable: then, I conclude, ’Tis childishness to stand upon an oath.
_Mosbie._ Well proved, Mistress Alice; yet by your leave 440 I’ll keep mine unbroken whilst he lives.
_Alice._ Ay, do, and spare not, his time is but short; For if thou beest as resolute as I, We’ll have him murdered as he walks the streets. In London many alehouse ruffians keep, Which, as I hear, will murder men for gold. They shall be soundly fee’d to pay him home.
_Here enters Greene._
_Mosbie._ Alice, what’s he that comes yonder? knowest thou him?
_Alice._ Mosbie, be gone: I hope ’tis one that comes To put in practice our intended drifts. 450
[_Exit Mosbie_
_Greene._ Mistress Arden, you are well met. I am sorry that your husband is from home, Whenas my purposed journey was to him: Yet all my labour is not spent in vain, For I suppose that you can full discourse And flat resolve me of the thing I seek.
_Alice._ What is it, Master Greene? If that I may Or can with safety, I will answer you.
_Greene._ I heard your husband hath the grant of late, Confirmed by letters patents from the king, 460 Of all the lands of the Abbey of Feversham, Generally intitled, so that all former grants Are cut off; whereof I myself had one; But now my interest by that is void. This is all, Mistress Arden; is it true or no?
_Alice._ True, Master Greene; the lands are his in state, And whatsoever leases were before Are void for term of Master Arden’s life; He hath the grant under the Chancery seal.
_Greene._ Pardon me, Mistress Arden, I must speak, 470 For I am touched. Your husband doth me wrong To wring me from the little land I have. My living is my life, and only that Resteth remainder of my portion. Desire of wealth is endless in his mind, And he is greedy-gaping still for gain; Nor cares he though young gentlemen do beg, So he may scrape and hoard up in his pouch. But, seeing he hath ta’en my lands, I’ll value life As careless as he is careful for to get: 480 And tell him this from me, I’ll be revenged, And so as he shall wish the Abbey lands Had rested still within their former state.
_Alice._ Alas, poor gentleman, I pity you, And woe is me that any man should want! God knows ’tis not my fault; but wonder not Though he be hard to others, when to me,-- Ah, Master Greene, God knows how I am used.
_Greene._ Why, Mistress Arden, can the crabbed churl Use you unkindly? respects he not your birth, 490 Your honourable friends, nor what you brought? Why, all Kent knows your parentage and what you are.
_Alice._ Ah, Master Greene, be it spoken in secret here, I never live good day with him alone: When he’s at home, then have I froward looks, Hard words and blows to mend the match withal; And though I might content as good a man, Yet doth he keep in every corner trulls; And when he’s weary with his trugs at home, Then rides he straight to London; there, forsooth, 500 He revels it among such filthy ones As counsels him to make away his wife. Thus live I daily in continual fear, In sorrow; so despairing of redress As every day I wish with hearty prayer That he or I were taken forth the world.
_Greene._ Now trust me, Mistress Alice, it grieveth me So fair a creature should be so abused. Why, who would have thought the civil sir so sullen? He looks so smoothly. Now, fie upon him, churl! 510 And if he live a day, he lives too long. But frolic, woman! I shall be the man Shall set you free from all this discontent; And if the churl deny my interest And will not yield my lease into my hand, I’ll pay him home, whatever hap to me.
_Alice._ But speak you as you think?
_Greene._ Ay, God’s my witness, I mean plain dealing, For I had rather die than lose my land.
_Alice._ Then, Master Greene, be counsellèd by me: 520 Indanger not yourself for such a churl, But hire some cutter for to cut him short, And here’s ten pound to wager them withal; When he is dead, you shall have twenty more, And the lands whereof my husband is possess’d Shall be intitled as they were before.
_Greene._ Will you keep promise with me?
_Alice._ Or count me false and perjured whilst I live.
_Greene._ Then here’s my hand, I’ll have him so dispatched. I’ll up to London straight, I’ll thither post, 530 And never rest till I have compassed it. Till then farewell.
_Alice._ Good fortune follow all your forward thoughts.
[_Exit Greene._
And whosoever doth attempt the deed, A happy hand I wish, and so farewell.-- All this goes well: Mosbie, I long for thee To let thee know all that I have contrived.
_Here enters Mosbie and Clarke._
_Mosbie._ How, now, Alice, what’s the news?
_Alice._ Such as will content thee well, sweetheart.
_Mosbie._ Well, let them pass a while, and tell me, Alice, How have you dealt and tempered with my sister? What, will she have my neighbour Clarke, or no?
_Alice._ What, Master Mosbie! let him woo himself! Think you that maids look not for fair words? Go to her, Clarke; she’s all alone within; Michael my man is clean out of her books.
_Clarke._ I thank you, Mistress Arden, I will in; And if fair Susan and I can make a gree, You shall command me to the uttermost, As far as either goods or life may stretch. 550
[_Exit Clarke._
_Mosbie._ Now, Alice, let’s hear thy news.
_Alice._ They be so good that I must laugh for joy, Before I can begin to tell my tale.
_Mosbie._ Let’s hear them, that I may laugh for company.
_Alice._ This morning, Master Greene, Dick Greene I mean, From whom my husband had the Abbey land, Came hither, railing, for to know the truth Whether my husband had the lands by grant. I told him all, whereat he stormed amain And swore he would cry quittance with the churl, 560 And, if he did deny his interest, Stab him, whatsoever did befall himself. Whenas I saw his choler thus to rise, I whetted on the gentleman with words; And, to conclude, Mosbie, at last we grew To composition for my husband’s death. I gave him ten pound for to hire knaves, By some device to make away the churl; When he is dead, he should have twenty more And repossess his former lands again. 570 On this we ’greed, and he is ridden straight To London, for to bring his death about.
_Mosbie._ But call you this good news?
_Alice._ Ay, sweetheart, be they not?
_Mosbie._ ’Twere cheerful news to hear the churl were dead; But trust me, Alice, I take it passing ill You would be so forgetful of our state To make recount of it to every groom. What! to acquaint each stranger with our drifts, Chiefly in case of murder, why, ’tis the way 580 To make it open unto Arden’s self And bring thyself and me to ruin both. Forewarned, forearmed; who threats his enemy, Lends him a sword to guard himself withal.
_Alice._ I did it for the best.
_Mosbie._ Well, seeing ’tis done, cheerly let it pass. You know this Greene; is he not religious? A man, I guess, of great devotion?
_Alice._ He is.
_Mosbie._ Then, sweet Alice, let it pass: I have a drift 590 Will quiet all, whatever is amiss.
_Here enters Clarke and Susan._
_Alice._ How now, Clarke? have you found me false? Did I not plead the matter hard for you?
_Clarke._ You did.
_Mosbie._ And what? wilt be a match?
_Clarke._ A match, i’ faith, sir: ay, the day is mine. The painter lays his colours to the life, His pencil draws no shadows in his love. Susan is mine.
_Alice._ You make her blush. 600
_Mosbie._ What, sister, is it Clarke must be the man?
_Susan._ It resteth in your grant; some words are past, And haply we be grown unto a match, If you be willing that it shall be so.
_Mosbie._ Ah, Master Clarke, it resteth at my grant: You see my sister’s yet at my dispose, But, so you’ll grant me one thing I shall ask, I am content my sister shall be yours.
_Clarke._ What is it, Master Mosbie?
_Mosbie._ I do remember once in secret talk 610 You told me how you could compound by art A crucifix impoisoned, That whoso look upon it should wax blind And with the scent be stifled, that ere long He should die poisoned that did view it well. I would have you make me such a crucifix. And then I’ll grant my sister shall be yours.
_Clarke._ Though I am loth, because it toucheth life, Yet, rather or I’ll leave sweet Susan’s love, I’ll do it, and with all the haste I may. 620 But for whom is it?
_Alice._ Leave that to us. Why, Clarke, is it possible That you should paint and draw it out yourself, The colours being baleful and impoisoned, And no ways prejudice yourself withal?
_Mosbie._ Well questioned, Alice; Clarke, how answer you that?
_Clarke._ Very easily: I’ll tell you straight How I do work of these impoisoned drugs. I fasten on my spectacles so close As nothing can any way offend my sight; 630 Then, as I put a leaf within my nose, So put I rhubarb to avoid the smell, And softly as another work I paint.
_Mosbie._ ’Tis very well; but against when shall I have it?
_Clarke._ Within this ten days.
_Mosbie._ ’Twill serve the turn. Now, Alice, let’s in and see what cheer you keep. I hope, now Master Arden is from home, You’ll give me leave to play your husband’s part.
_Alice._ Mosbie, you know, who’s master of my heart, He well may be the master of the house. 640
[_Exeunt._
I. i. 4. _Patents_; the plural is always used in A, cf. _Richard II._ II. i. 202; II. iii. 130.
I. i. 14. Contrast Holinshed:--‘He, _i.e._ Arden, was contented to wink at her filthy disorder,’ and _Wardmote Book_:--‘All which things the said Ardern did well know and wilfully did permit and suffer the same.’ He was afraid to offend Lord North, ‘father-in-law unto Alice Ardern,’ whose servant Mosbie had been. This North was the father of the translator of Plutarch.
I. i. 15. _Pass_; so Bullen for _past_, A, B, C.
I. i. 25. _Botcher_, is not ‘butcher,’ but a mender of old clothes.
I. i. 48. _Jealous_: spelt _jelyouse_, and pronounced so throughout the play.
I. i. 60. The reference is to Ovid’s _Elegy_, ‘Ad Auroram ne properet.’--_Amor._ i. 13.
I. i. 61. Most editions reject _often_. If we retain it the line is an Alexandrine. Cf. i. 153, 167, 238, 479; III. v. 73, etc.
I. i. 105. _Flower-de-luce._ ‘An inn, formerly situated in Abbey Street, nearly opposite Arden’s house.’ C. E. Donne, _An Essay on the Tragedy of Arden of Faversham_, 1873.
I. i. 117. _thy house of force_, _i.e._ ‘fortified house.’
I. i. 135. _narrow_: so all editors; but the _marrow-prying_ of A may be correct. _Blab_ is either a verb with _and_ omitted after it, or a noun, the subject of _hinder_.
I. i. 154. An allusion to verses or inscriptions on tapestry hangings.
I. i. 159. Cf. ‘I’ll write to him a very taunting letter.’--_As You Like It_, III. v. 134.
I. i. 167. ‘It was popularly supposed that a virgin might save a criminal from the gallows by offering to marry him.--See note to my edition of Marston, III. 190-1.’--Bullen.
I. i. 172. Perhaps _worth_ should be omitted.
I. i. 174. _Bolton_ is ‘Boughton, looking down on Canterbury.’--Donne.
I. i. 247. The name ‘Clarke’ is apparently our author’s invention, like the name and character of Franklin. The painter’s name was William Blackburn.
I. i. 266. _Leave_; Tyrrell reads _love_.
I. i. 278. _makes_: this singular with a plural subject is frequent in our play; cf. _Enters_ in the stage directions with a plural, and I. 151, 437, 502; II. i. 1; III. i. 43 and 83; V. 38, etc. Consult Mr. Verity’s note on _Edward II._, I. iv. 362, Temple Dramatists.
I. i. 312. The statute in question was 37 Edward III. c. 9.
I. i. 314. ‘The making of Spanish needles was first taught in England by Elias Crowse a Germane about the eight yeere of Queene Elizabeth, and in Queen Marie’s time there was a Negro made fine Spanish needles in Cheapeside, but would never teach his art to any.’ Quoted by Bullen from _Stowe_, edition 1631, p. 1038.
I. i. 314. ‘Then Mosby having at his girdle a pressing iron of 14 pound weight stroke him on the head with the same so that he fell down and gave a great groan.’--Holinshed. Cf V. i. 241.
I. i. 323. _Velvet drudge_: an allusion to Mosbie’s tailoring.
I. i. 426. _Populous_: ‘perhaps used in the sense of _thick_, _compact_.’--Bullen. Webster quotes this passage and explains, ‘suitable to common people: hence common, inferior, vulgar.’ Delius proposes _palpable_.
I. i. 466. _His in state_, _i.e._ ‘his legally.’
I. i. 472. Cf. ‘To wring the widow from her customed right.’--2 _Henry VI._, V. i. 188.
I. i. 537. Tyrrell begins Act II. here.
I. i. 546. ‘The gentleman is not in your books.’--_Much Ado_, I. i. 79.
I. i. 548. _make a gree_, come to an agreement. _Agree_ was used adverbially for _at gree_.