SCENE I

_A Room in Franklin’s House, at Aldersgate._

_Enter Arden and Franklin._

_Arden._ No, Franklin, no: if fear or stormy threats, If love of me or care of womanhood, If fear of God or common speech of men, Who mangle credit with their wounding words, And couch dishonour as dishonour buds, Might join repentance in her wanton thoughts, No question then but she would turn the leaf And sorrow for her dissolution; But she is rooted in her wickedness, Perverse and stubborn, not to be reclaimed; 10 Good counsel is to her as rain to weeds, And reprehension makes her vice to grow As Hydra’s head that plenished by decay. Her faults, methink, are painted in my face, For every searching eye to overread; And Mosbie’s name, a scandal unto mine, Is deeply trenchèd in my blushing brow. Ah, Franklin, Franklin, when I think on this, My heart’s grief rends my other powers Worse than the conflict at the hour of death. 20

_Franklin._ Gentle Arden, leave this sad lament: She will amend, and so your griefs will cease; Or else she’ll die, and so your sorrows end. If neither of these two do haply fall, Yet let your comfort be that others bear Your woes, twice doubled all, with patience.

_Arden._ My house is irksome; there I cannot rest.

_Franklin._ Then stay with me in London; go not home.

_Arden._ Then that base Mosbie doth usurp my room And makes his triumph of my being thence. 30 At home or not at home, where’er I be, Here, here it lies, ah Franklin, here it lies That will not out till wretched Arden dies.

_Here enters Michael._

_Franklin._ Forget your griefs a while; here comes your man.

_Arden._ What a-clock is’t, sirrah?

_Michael._ Almost ten.

_Arden._ See, see, how runs away the weary time! Come, Master Franklin, shall we go to bed?

[_Exeunt Arden and Michael._ _Manet Franklin._

_Franklin._ I pray you, go before: I’ll follow you. --Ah, what a hell is fretful jealousy! 40 What pity-moving words, what deep-fetched sighs, What grievous groans and overlading woes Accompanies this gentle gentleman! Now will he shake his care-oppressèd head, Then fix his sad eyes on the sullen earth, Ashamed to gaze upon the open world; Now will he cast his eyes up towards the heavens, Looking that ways for redress of wrong: Sometimes he seeketh to beguile his grief And tells a story with his careful tongue; 50 Then comes his wife’s dishonour in his thoughts And in the middle cutteth off his tale, Pouring fresh sorrow on his weary limbs. So woe-begone, so inly charged with woe, Was never any lived and bare it so.

_Here enters Michael._

_Michael._ My master would desire you come to bed.

_Franklin._ Is he himself already in his bed?

[_Exit Franklin. Manet Michael._

_Michael._ He is, and fain would have the light away. --Conflicting thoughts, encampèd in my breast, Awake me with the echo of their strokes, 60 And I, a judge to censure either side, Can give to neither wishèd victory. My master’s kindness pleads to me for life With just demand, and I must grant it him: My mistress she hath forced me with an oath, For Susan’s sake, the which I may not break, For that is nearer than a master’s love: That grim-faced fellow, pitiless Black Will, And Shakebag, stern in bloody stratagem, --Two rougher ruffians never lived in Kent,-- 70 Have sworn my death, if I infringe my vow, A dreadful thing to be considered of. Methinks I see them with their bolstered hair Staring and grinning in thy gentle face, And in their ruthless hands their daggers drawn, Insulting o’er thee with a peck of oaths, Whilst thou submissive, pleading for relief, Art mangled by their ireful instruments. Methinks I hear them ask where Michael is, And pitiless Black Will cries: ‘Stab the slave! 80 The peasant will detect the tragedy!’ The wrinkles in his foul death-threat’ning face Gapes open wide, like graves to swallow men. My death to him is but a merriment, And he will murder me to make him sport. He comes, he comes! ah. Master Franklin, help! Call on the neighbours, or we are but dead!

_Here enters Franklin and Arden._

_Franklin._ What dismal outcry calls me from my rest?

_Arden._ What hath occasioned such a fearful cry? Speak, Michael: hath any injured thee? 90

_Michael._ Nothing, sir; but as I fell asleep, Upon the threshold leaning to the stairs, I had a fearful dream that troubled me, And in my slumber thought I was beset With murderer thieves that came to rifle me. My trembling joints witness my inward fear: I crave your pardons for disturbing you.

_Arden._ So great a cry for nothing I ne’er heard. What? are the doors fast locked and all things safe?

_Michael._ I cannot tell; I think I locked the doors. 100

_Arden._ I like not this, but I’ll go see myself.-- Ne’er trust me but the doors were all unlocked: This negligence not half contenteth me. Get you to bed, and if you love my favour, Let me have no more such pranks as these. Come, Master Franklin, let us go to bed.

_Franklin._ Ay, by my faith; the air is very cold. Michael, farewell; I pray thee dream no more.

[_Exeunt._

III. i. 5. _Couch dishonour as dishonour buds._ Warnke explains _Couch_ = ‘spread,’ comparing ‘couch-grass’; but there is no authority for this use. Is the word used in its surgical sense? The line would then = ‘Cut the bud of dishonour so that it bursts into flower.’ The surgical sense occurs in Holland’s _Pliny_, 1601.

III. i. 13. _plenished_ is Warnke’s reading for the Quartos’ _perisht_. Delius and Bullen read _flourished_.

III. i. 19. Cf. ‘Sorrow and grief have vanquished all my powers.’--2 _Henry VI._, II. i. 83.

III. i. 45. For this use of _sullen_ cf. ‘Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth?’--2 _Henry VI._, I. ii. 5, and Sonnet XXIX. 13.