SCENE V.

_Re-enter_ PREPASSO, _joins to_ BILIOSO; _then enter_ two Pages _with lights_, FERRARDO, MENDOZA; _at the other door_, two Pages _with lights_, _and the_ Captain _leading in_ MARIA; MENDOZA _meets_ MARIA _and closeth with her_; _the rest fall back_.

_Men._ Madam, with gentle ear receive my suit; A kingdom’s safety should o’er-peise[2788] slight rites; Marriage is merely nature’s policy: Then, since unless our royal beds be join’d, Danger and civil tumults fright the state, 5 Be wise as you are fair, give way to fate.

_Maria._ What wouldst thou, thou affliction to our house? Thou ever-devil, ’t was thou that banished’st My truly noble lord!

_Men._ I! 10

_Maria._ Ay, by thy plots, by thy black stratagems. Twelve moons have suffer’d change since I beheld The loved presence of my dearest lord. O thou far worse than Death! he parts but soul From a weak body; but thou soul from soul 15 Dissever’st, that which God’s own hand did knit; Thou scant of honour, full of devilish wit!

_Men._ We’ll check your too-intemperate lavishness: I can and will.

_Maria._ What canst? 20

_Men._ Go to; in banishment thy husband dies.

_Maria._ He ever is at home that’s ever wise.

_Men._ You ’st ne’er meet more: reason should love control.

_Maria._ Not meet! 24 She that dear loves, her love ’s still in her soul.

_Men._ You are but a woman, lady, you must yield.

_Maria._ O, save me, thou innated bashfulness, Thou only ornament of woman’s modesty!

_Men._ Modesty! death, I’ll torment thee. 29

_Maria._ Do, urge all torments, all afflictions try; I’ll die my lord’s as long as I can die.

_Men._ Thou obstinate, thou shall die.—Captain, that lady’s life Is forfeited to justice: we have examin’d her, And we do find she hath empoisoned 34 The reverend hermit; therefore we command Severest custody.—Nay, if you’ll do ’s no good, You ’st do ’s no harm: a tyrant’s peace is blood.

_Maria._ O, thou art merciful; O gracious devil, Rather by much let me condemned be 39 For seeming murder than be damn’d for thee! I’ll mourn no more; come, girt my brows with flowers: Revel and dance, soul, now thy wish thou hast; Die like a bride, poor heart, thou shalt die chaste.

_Enter_ AURELIA _in mourning habit_.

_Aur._ “Life is a frost of cold felicity,[2789] And death the thaw of all our vanity:”[2790] 45 Was’t not an honest priest that wrote so?

_Men._ Who let her in?

_Bil._ Forbear!

_Pre._ Forbear!

_Aur._ Alas, calamity is everywhere: 50 Sad misery, despite your double doors, Will enter even in court.

_Bil._ Peace!

_Aur._ I ha’ done.

_Bil._[2791] One word,—take heed! 55

_Aur._ I ha’ done.

_Enter_ MERCURY _with loud music_.

_Mer._ Cyllenian Mercury, the god of ghosts, From gloomy shades that spread the lower coasts,[2792] Calls four high-famed Genoan dukes to come, And make this presence their Elysium, 60 To pass away this high triumphal night With song and dances, court’s more soft delight.

_Aur._ Are you god of ghosts? I have a suit pending in hell betwixt me and my conscience; would fain have thee help me to an advocate.

_Bil._ Mercury shall be your lawyer, lady. 66

_Aur._ Nay, faith. Mercury has too good a face to be a right lawyer.

_Pre._ Peace, forbear! Mercury presents the masque.

_Cornets_: _the song to the cornets, which playing, the masque enters_; MALEVOLE, PIETRO, FERNEZE, _and_ CELSO, _in white robes, with duke’s crowns upon laurel wreaths, pistolets and short swords under their robes_.

_Men._ Celso, Celso, court Maria for our love.— Lady, be gracious, yet grace. 71

_Maria._ With me, sir? MALEVOLE _takes_ MARIA _to dance_.

_Mal._ Yes, more loved than my breath; With you I’ll dance.

_Maria._ Why, then, you dance with death. But, come, sir, I was ne’er more apt for mirth. Death gives eternity a glorious breath: 75 O, to die honour’d, who would fear to die?

_Mal._ They die in fear who live in villainy.

_Men._ Yes, believe him, lady, and be rul’d by him.

_Pietro._ Madam, with me. PIETRO _takes_ AURELIA _to dance_.

_Aur._ Wouldst, then, be miserable? 80

_Pietro._ I need not wish.

_Aur._ O, yet forbear my hand! away! fly! fly! O, seek not her that only seeks to die!

_Pietro._ Poor loved soul!

_Aur._ What, wouldst court misery? 85

_Pietro._ Yes.

_Aur._ She’ll come too soon:—O my grieved heart!

_Pietro._ Lady, ha’ done, ha’ done: Come, let us dance: be once from sorrow free.

_Aur._ Art a sad man? 90

_Pietro._ Yes, sweet.

_Aur._ Then we’ll agree.

FERNEZE _takes_ MAQUERELLE _and_ CELSO, BIANCA: _then the cornets sound the measure, one change and rest._

_Fer._ (_to_ BIANCA.) Believe it, lady; shall I swear? Let me enjoy you in private, and I’ll marry you, by my soul. 95

_Bian._ I had rather you would swear by your body: I think that would prove the more regarded oath with you.

_Fer._ I’ll swear by them both, to please you.

_Bian._ O, damn them not both to please (100) me, for God’s sake!

_Fer._ Faith, sweet creature, let me enjoy you to-night, and I’ll marry you to-morrow fortnight, by my troth, la.

_Maq._ On his troth, la! believe him not; (105) that kind of cony-catching[2793] is as stale as Sir Oliver Anchovy’s perfumed jerkin: promise of matrimony by a young gallant, to bring a virgin lady into a fool’s paradise; make her a great woman, and then cast her off;—’t is as common (110) [and][2794] natural to a courtier, as jealousy to a citizen, gluttony to a puritan, wisdom to an alderman, pride to a tailor, or an empty hand-basket to one of these six-penny damnations: of his troth, la! believe him not; traps to (115) catch pole-cats.

_Mal._ (_to_ MARIA.) Keep your face constant, let no sudden passion Speak in your eyes.

_Maria._ O my Altofront!

_Pietro._ (_to_ AURELIA.) A tyrant’s jealousies Are very nimble: you receive it all? 121

_Aur._ My heart, though not my knees, doth humbly fall Low as the earth, to thee.

[_Mal._][2795] Peace! next change; no words.

_Maria._ Speech to such, ay, O, what will affords! 125 _Cornets sound the measure over again; which danced, they unmask._

_Men._ Malevole! _They environ_ MENDOZA, _bending their pistols on him_.

_Mal._ No.

_Men._ Altofront! Duke Pietro! Ferneze! ha!

_All._ Duke Altofront! Duke Altofront! _Cornets, a flourish._—_They seize upon_ MENDOZA.

_Men._ Are we surpris’d? What strange delusions mock 130 Our senses? Do I dream? or have I dreamt This two days’ space? Where am I?

_Mal._ Where an arch-villain is.

_Men._ O, lend me breath till I am fit to die! For peace with heaven, for your own souls’ sake, Vouchsafe me life! 136

_Pietro._ Ignoble villain! whom neither heaven nor hell, Goodness of God or man, could once make good!

_Mal._ Base, treacherous wretch! what grace canst thou expect, That hast grown impudent in gracelessness? 140

_Men._ O, life!

_Mal._ Slave, take thy life. Wert thou defenced, th(o)rough blood and wounds, The sternest horror of a civil fight, 144 Would I achieve thee; but prostrate at my feet, I scorn to hurt thee: ’t is the heart of slaves That deigns to triumph over peasants’ graves; For such thou art, since birth doth ne’er enroll A man ’mong monarchs, but a glorious soul. [[2796] O, I have seen strange accidents of state! 150 The flatterer, like the ivy, clip the oak, And waste it to the heart; lust so confirm’d, That the black act of sin itself not sham’d To be term’d courtship. O, they that are as great as be their sins, 155 Let them remember that th’ inconstant people Love many princes merely for their faces And outward shows; and they do covet more To have a sight of these than of their virtues. Yet thus much let the great ones still conceive,[2797] When they observe not heaven’s impos’d conditions, 161 They are no kings, but forfeit their commissions.

_Maq._ O good my lord. I have lived in the court this twenty year: they that have been old courtiers, and come to live in the city, they (165) are spited at, and thrust to the walls like apricocks, good my lord.

_Bil._ My lord, I did know your lordship in this disguise; you heard me ever say, if Altofront did return, I would stand for him: 170 besides, ’t was your lordship’s pleasure to call me wittol and cuckold: you must not think, but that I knew you, I would have put it up so patiently.]

_Mal._ You o’er-joy’d spirits, wipe your long-wet eyes. _To_ PIETRO _and_ AURELIA. Hence with this man (_kicks out_ MENDOZA): an eagle takes not flies. 176 You to your vows (_to_ PIETRO _and_ AURELIA): and thou into the suburbs.[2798] _To_ MAQUERELLE. You to my worst friend I would hardly give; Thou art a perfect old knave (_to_ BILIOSO): all-pleas’d live You two unto my breast (_to_ CELSO _and the_ Captain): thou to my heart. (_To_ MARIA.) The rest of idle actors idly part: 181 And as for me, I here assume my right. To which I hope all’s pleas’d: to all, goodnight. _Cornets, a flourish. Exeunt omnes._

AN IMPERFECT ODE, BEING BUT ONE STAFF

SPOKEN BY THE PROLOGUE.

To wrest each hurtless thought to private sense Is the foul use of ill-bred impudence: Immodest censure now grows wild, All over-running. Let innocence be ne’er so chaste, 5 Yet to the last She is defil’d With too nice-brained cunning. O you of fairer soul, Control 10 With an Herculean arm This harm; And once teach all old freedom of a pen, Which still must write of fools, whiles ’t writes of men!

EPILOGUS

Your modest silence, full of heedy stillness, Makes me thus speak: a voluntary illness Is merely[2799] senseless; but unwilling error, Such as proceeds from too rash youthful fervour, May well be call’d a fault, but not a sin: 5 Rivers take names from founts where they begin. Then let not too severe an eye peruse The slighter brakes[2800] of our reformed Muse, Who could herself herself of faults detect, But that she knows ’t is easy to correct, 10 Though some men’s labour: troth, to err is fit, As long as wisdom’s not profess’d, but wit. Then till another’s[2801] happier Muse appears, Till his Thalia feast your learned ears, To whose desertful lamps pleased Fates impart Art above nature, judgment above art, 16 Receive this piece, which hope nor fear yet daunteth: He that knows most knows most how much he wanteth.

A WOMAN KILLED WITH KINDNESS

BY THOMAS HEYWOOD

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

SIR FRANCIS ACTON, Brother to Mistress Frankford. SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD. MASTER JOHN FRANKFORD. MASTER MALBY, friend to Sir Francis. MASTER WENDOLL, friend to Frankford. MASTER CRANWELL. MASTER SHAFTON, false friend to Sir Charles. OLD MOUNTFORD, Uncle to Sir Charles. MASTER SANDY. MASTER RODER. MASTER TIDY, Cousin to Sir Charles. NICHOLAS, ROGER BRICKBAT, } Household Servants to JENKIN, JACK SLIME, } Frankford. SPIGOT, Butler, } Sheriff. Keeper of Prison. Sheriff’s Officers, Serjeant, Huntsmen, Falconers, Coachmen, Carters, Servants, Musicians.

MISTRESS ANNE FRANKFORD. SUSAN, Sister to Sir Charles Mountford. CICELY, Maid to Mistress Frankford. Women Servants in Master Frankford’s household.]

PROLOGUE

I come but like a harbinger, being sent To tell you what these preparations mean. Look for no glorious state; our Muse is bent Upon a barren subject, a bare scene. We could afford this twig a timber-tree, 5 Whose strength might boldly on your favours build; Our russet, tissue; drone, a honey-bee; Our barren plot, a large and spacious field; Our coarse fare, banquets; our thin water, wine; Our brook, a sea; our bat’s eyes, eagle’s sight; 10 Our poet’s dull and earthy Muse, divine; Our ravens, doves; our crow’s black feathers, white. But gentle thoughts, when they may give the foil,[2802] Save them that yield, and spare where they may spoil.

[ACT I]

[SCENE I.][2803]

_Enter_ MASTER JOHN FRANKFORD, MISTRESS [FRANKFORD],[2804] SIR FRANCIS ACTON, SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, MASTER MALBY, MASTER WENDOLL, AND MASTER CRANWELL.

_Sir F._ Some music, there! None lead the bride a dance?

_Sir C._ Yes, would she dance _The Shaking of the Sheets_; But that’s the dance her husband means to lead her.

_Wen._ That’s not the dance that every man must dance, According to the ballad.[2805]

_Sir F._ Music, ho! 5 By your leave, sister,—by your husband’s leave, I should have said,—the hand that but this day Was given you in the church I’ll borrow.—Sound! This marriage music hoists me from the ground.

_Frank._ Ay, you may caper; you are light and free! 10 Marriage hath yok’d my heels; pray, then, pardon me.

_Sir F._ I’ll have you dance too, brother!

_Sir C._ Master Frankford, You are a happy man, sir, and much joy Succeed your marriage mirth: you have a wife So qualified, and with such ornaments 15 Both of the mind and body. First, her birth Is noble, and her education such As might become the daughter of a prince; Her own tongue speaks all tongues, and her own hand Can teach all strings to speak in their best grace, 20 From the shrill’st treble to the hoarsest base. To end her many praises in one word, She’s Beauty and Perfection’s eldest daughter, Only found by yours, though many a heart hath sought her.

_Frank._ But that I know your virtues and chaste thoughts, 25 I should be jealous of your praise, Sir Charles.

_Cran._ He speaks no more than you approve.

_Mal._ Nor flatters he that gives to her her due.

_Mrs. F._ I would your praise could find a fitter theme Than my imperfect beauties to speak on! 30 Such as they be, if they my husband please, They suffice me now I am married. His sweet content is like a flattering glass, To make my face seem fairer to mine eye; But the least wrinkle from his stormy brow 35 Will blast the roses in my cheeks that grow.

_Sir F._ A perfect wife already, meek and patient! How strangely the word husband fits your mouth. Not married three hours since! Sister, ’t is good; 39 You that begin betimes thus must needs prove Pliant and duteous in your husband’s love.— Gramercies, brother! Wrought her to ’t already,— ‘Sweet husband,’ and a curtsey, the first day? Mark this, mark this, you that are bachelors, And never took the grace[2806] of honest man; 45 Mark this, against you marry,[2807] this one phrase: In a good time that man both wins and woos That takes his wife down[2808] in her wedding shoes.

_Frank._ Your sister takes not after you, Sir Francis, All his wild blood your father spent on you; 50 He got her in his age, when he grew civil. All his mad tricks were to his land entail’d, And you are heir to all; your sister, she Hath to her dower her mother’s modesty.

_Sir C._ Lord, sir, in what a happy state live you! 55 This morning, which to many seems a burden, Too heavy to bear, is unto you a pleasure. This lady is no clog, as many are; She doth become you like a well-made suit, In which the tailor hath us’d all his art; 60 Not like a thick coat of unseason’d frieze, Forc’d on your back in summer. She’s no chain To tie your neck, and curb you to the yoke: But she’s a chain of gold to adorn your neck. You both adorn each other, and your hands, 65 Methinks, are matches. There’s equality In this fair combination; you are both Scholars, both young, both being descended nobly. There’s music in this sympathy; it carries Consort and expectation of much joy, 70 Which God bestow on you from this first day Until your dissolution,—that’s for aye!

_Sir F._ We keep you here too long, good brother Frankford. Into the hall; away! Go cheer your guests. What! Bride and bridegroom both withdrawn at once? 75 If you be mist, the guests will doubt their welcome, And charge you with unkindness.

_Frank._ To prevent it, I’ll leave you here, to see the dance within.

_Mrs. F._ And so will I. _Exeunt_ [MASTER AND MISTRESS FRANKFORD].

_Sir. F._ To part you it were sin.— Now, gallants, while the town musicians 80 Finger their frets[2809] within, and the mad lads And country lasses, every mother’s child, With nosegays and bride-laces[2810] in their hats, Dance all their country measures, rounds, and jigs, What shall we do? Hark! They’re all on the hoigh;[2811] 85 They toil like mill-horses, and turn as round,— Marry, not on the toe! Ay, and they caper, [Not][2812] without cutting; you shall see, to-morrow, The hall-floor peckt and dinted like a millstone, Made with their high shoes. Though their skill be small, 90 Yet they tread heavy where their hobnails fall.

_Sir C._ Well, leave them to their sports!—Sir Francis Acton, I’ll make a match with you! Meet me to-morrow At Chevy Chase; I’ll fly my hawk with yours.

_Sir F._ For what? For what?

_Sir C._ Why, for a hundred pound. 95

_Sir F._ Pawn me some gold of that!

_Sir C._ Here are ten angels;[2813] I’ll make them good a hundred pound to-morrow Upon my hawk’s wing.

_Sir. F._ ’T is a match; ’t is done. Another hundred pound upon your dogs;— Dare ye, Sir Charles?

_Sir C._ I dare; were I sure to lose, I durst do more than that; here is my hand, 101 The first course for a hundred pound!

_Sir F._ A match.

_Wen._ Ten angels on Sir Francis Acton’s hawk; As much upon his dogs!

_Cran._ I’m for Sir Charles Mountford: I have seen 105 His hawk and dog both tried. What! Clap ye hands,[2814] Or is’t no bargain?

_Wen._ Yes, and stake them down. Were they five hundred, they were all my own.

_Sir F._ Be stirring early with the lark to-morrow; I’ll rise into my saddle ere the sun 110 Rise from his bed.

_Sir C._ If there you miss me, say I am no gentleman! I’ll hold my day.

_Sir F._ It holds on all sides.—Come, to-night let ’s dance; Early to-morrow let ’s prepare to ride: 114 We ’d need be three hours up before the bride. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][2815]

_Enter_ NICHOLAS _and_ JENKIN, JACK SLIME, ROGER BRICKBAT, _with_ Country Wenches, _and two or three_ Musicians.

_Jen._ Come, Nick, take you Joan Miniver, to trace withal; Jack Slime, traverse you with Cicely Milkpail; I will take Jane Trubkin, and Roger Brickbat shall have Isabel Motley. And now that they are busy in the parlour, come, (5) strike up; we ’ll have a crash[2816] here in the yard.

_Nich._ My humour is not compendious: dancing I possess not, though I can foot it; yet, since I am fallen into the hands of Cicely 10 Milkpail, I consent.

_Slime._ Truly, Nick, though we were never brought up like serving courtiers, yet we have been brought up with serving creatures,—ay, and God’s creatures, too; for we have been (15) brought up to serve sheep, oxen, horses, hogs, and such like; and, though we be but country fellows, it may be in the way of dancing we can do the horse-trick as well as the serving-men.

_Brick._ Ay, and the cross-point too. 20

_Jen._ O Slime! O Brickbat! Do not you know that comparisons are odious? Now we are odious ourselves, too; therefore there are no comparisons to be made betwixt us.

_Nich._ I am sudden, and not superfluous; 25 I am quarrelsome, and not seditious; I am peaceable, and not contentious; I am brief, and not compendious.

_Slime._ Foot it quickly! If the music overcome not my melancholy, I shall quarrel; and if (30) they suddenly do not strike up, I shall presently strike thee down.

_Jen._ No quarrelling, for God’s sake! Truly, if you do, I shall set a knave between ye.

_Slime._ I come to dance, not to quarrel. (35) Come, what shall it be? _Rogero?_[2817]

_Jen. Rogero?_ No; we will dance _The Beginning of the World_.

_Cicely._ I love no dance so well as _John come kiss me now_. 40

_Nich._ I that have ere now deserv’d a cushion, call for the _Cushion-dance_.

_Brick._ For my part, I like nothing so well as _Tom Tyler_.

_Jen._ No; we’ll have _The Hunting of the_ (45) _Fox_.

_Slime. The Hay, The Hay!_ There’s nothing like _The Hay_.

_Nich._ I have said, I do say, and I will say again— 50

_Jen._ Every man agree to have it as Nick says!

_All._ Content.

_Nich._ It hath been, it now is, and it shall be—

_Cicely._ What, Master Nicholas? What? 55

_Nich. Put on your Smock a’ Monday._

_Jen._ So the dance will come cleanly off! Come, for God’s sake, agree of something: if you like not that, put it to the musicians; or let me speak for all, and we ’ll have _Sellenger’s_ (60) _Round_.

_All._ That, that, that!

_Nich._ No, I am resolv’d thus it shall be; First take hands, then take ye to your heels.

_Jen._ Why, would you have us run away? 65

_Nich._ No; but I would have you shake your heels.—Music, strike up!

_They dance;_ NICK _dancing, speaks stately and scurvily, the rest after the country fashion._

_Jen._ Hey! Lively, my lasses! Here’s a turn for thee! _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][2818]

_Wind horns. Enter_ SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, SIR FRANCIS ACTON, MALBY, CRANWELL, WENDOLL, Falconer, _and_ Huntsmen.

_Sir C._ So; well cast off! Aloft, aloft! Well flown! Oh, now she takes her at the souse,[2819] and strikes her Down to the earth, like a swift thunder-clap.

_Wen._ She hath struck ten angels out of my way.

_Sir F._ A hundred pound from me. 5

_Sir C._ What, falconer!

_Falc._ At hand, sir!

_Sir C._ Now she hath seiz’d the fowl and ’gins to plume[2820] her, Rebeck[2821] her not; rather stand still and check her! So, seize her gets,[2822] her jesses,[2823] and her bells! 10 Away!

_Sir F._ My hawk kill’d, too.

_Sir C._ Ay, but ’t was at the querre,[2824] Not at the mount like mine.

_Sir F._ Judgment, my masters!

_Cran._ Yours mist her at the ferre.[2825]

_Wen._ Ay, but our merlin first had plum’d the fowl, 15 And twice renew’d[2826] her from the river too. Her bells, Sir Francis, had not both one weight, Nor was one semi-tune above the other. Methinks, these Milan bells do sound too full, And spoil the mounting of your hawk.

_Sir C._ ’T is lost. 20

_Sir F._ I grant it not. Mine likewise seiz’d a fowl Within her talons, and you saw her paws Full of the feathers: both her petty singles[2827] And her long singles grip’d her more than other; The terrials[2828] of her[2829] legs were stain’d with blood, 25 Not of the fowl only; she did discomfit Some of her feathers; but she brake away. Come, come; your hawk is but a rifler.[2830]

_Sir C._ How!

_Sir F._ Ay, and your dogs are trindle-tails[2831] and curs.

_Sir C._ You stir my blood. 30 You keep not one good hound in all your kennel. Nor one good hawk upon your perch.

_Sir F._ How, knight!

_Sir C._ So, knight. You will not swagger, sir?

_Sir F._ Why, say I did?

_Sir C._ Why, sir, I say you would gain as much by swagg’ring 35 As you have got by wagers on your dogs. You will come short in all things.

_Sir F._ Not in this! Now I’ll strike home. [_Strikes_ Sir Charles.]

_Sir C._ Thou shalt to thy long home, Or I will want my will.

_Sir F._ All they that love Sir Francis, follow me! 40

_Sir C._ All that affect Sir Charles, draw on my part!

_Cran._ On this side heaves my hand.

_Wen._ Here goes my heart.

_They divide themselves._ SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, CRANWELL, Falconer, _and_ Huntsman, _fight against_ SIR FRANCIS ACTON, WENDOLL, _his_ Falconer _and_ Huntsman; _and_ SIR CHARLES _hath the better, and beats them away, killing both of_ SIR FRANCIS’S _men._ [_Exeunt all but_ SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.]

_Sir C._ My God, what have I done! What have I done! My rage hath plung’d into a sea of blood, In which my soul lies drown’d. Poor innocents, 45 For whom we are to answer! Well, ’t is done, And I remain the victor. A great conquest, When I would give this right hand, nay, this head, To breathe in them new life whom I have slain!— Forgive me, God! ’T was in the heat of blood, 50 And anger quite removes me from myself. It was not I, but rage, did this vile murder; Yet I, and not my rage, must answer it. Sir Francis Acton, he is fled the field; With him all those that did partake his quarrel; And I am left alone with sorrow dumb, 56 And in my height of conquest overcome.

_Enter_ SUSAN.

_Susan._ O God! My brother wounded ’mong the dead! Unhappy jest, that in such earnest ends! The rumour of this fear stretcht to my ears, 60 And I am come to know if you be wounded.

_Sir C._ Oh, sister, sister! Wounded at the heart.

_Susan._ My God forbid!

_Sir. C._ In doing that thing which he forbad, I am wounded, sister.

_Susan._ I hope, not at the heart. 65

_Sir C._ Yes, at the heart.

_Susan._ O God! A surgeon, there.

_Sir C._ Call me a surgeon, sister, for my soul! The sin of murder, it hath pierc’d my heart And made a wide wound there; but for these scratches, They are nothing, nothing.

_Susan._ Charles, what have you done? 70 Sir Francis hath great friends, and will pursue you Unto the utmost danger[2832] of the law.

_Sir C._ My conscience is become mine enemy, And will pursue me more than Acton can.

_Susan._ Oh! Fly, sweet brother!

_Sir C._ Shall I fly from thee? 75 Why, Sue, art weary of my company?

_Susan._ Fly from your foe!

_Sir C._ You, sister, are my friend, And flying you, I shall pursue my end.

_Susan._ Your company is as my eyeball dear; Being far from you, no comfort can be near. 80 Yet fly to save your life! What would I care To spend my future age in black despair, So you were safe? And yet to live one week Without my brother Charles, through every cheek My streaming tears would downwards run so rank,[2833] 85 Till they could set on either side a bank, And in the midst a channel; so my face For two salt-water brooks shall still find place.

_Sir C._ Thou shalt not weep so much; for I will stay, In spite of danger’s teeth. I’ll live with thee, 90 Or I’ll not live at all. I will not sell My country and my father’s patrimony, Nor thy sweet sight, for a vain hope of life.

_Enter_ Sheriff, _with_ Officers.

_Sher._ Sir Charles, I am made the unwilling instrument Of your attach[2834] and apprehension. 95 I’m sorry that the blood of innocent men Should be of you exacted. It was told me That you were guarded with a troop of friends, And therefore I come thus arm’d.

_Sir C._ Oh, Master Sheriff! I came into the field with many friends, 100 But see, they all have left me; only one Clings to my sad misfortune, my dear sister. I know you for an honest gentleman; I yield my weapons, and submit to you. Convey me where you please!

_Sher._ To prison, then, 105 To answer for the lives of these dead men.

_Susan._ O God! O God!

_Sir C._ Sweet sister, every strain Of sorrow from your heart augments my pain; Your grief abounds,[2835] and hits against my breast.

_Sher._ Sir, will you go?

_Sir C._ Even where it likes you best. 110

[ACT II]

[SCENE I.]

_Enter_ MASTER FRANKFORD _in a study_.

_Frank._ How happy am I amongst other men, That in my mean estate embrace content! I am a gentleman, and by my birth Companion with a king; a king’s no more. I am possess’d of many fair revenues, 5 Sufficient to maintain a gentleman; Touching my mind, I am studied in all arts; The riches of my thoughts and of my time Have been a good proficient;[2836] but, the chief Of all the sweet felicities on earth, 10 I have a fair, a chaste, and loving wife,— Perfection all, all truth, all ornament. If man on earth may truly happy be, Of these at once possest, sure, I am he.

_Enter_ NICHOLAS.

_Nich._ Sir, there’s a gentleman attends without 15 To speak with you.

_Frank._ On horseback?

_Nich._ Yes, on horseback.

_Frank._ Entreat him to alight, I will attend him. Know’st thou him, Nick?

_Nich._ Know him? Yes; his name ’s Wendoll. It seems, he comes in haste: his horse is booted[2837] Up to the flank in mire, himself all spotted 20 And stain’d with plashing. Sure, he rid in fear, Or for a wager. Horse and man both sweat; I ne’er saw two in such a smoking heat.

_Frank._ Entreat him in: about it instantly! [_Exit_ NICHOLAS.] This Wendoll I have noted, and his carriage 25 Hath pleas’d me much; by observation I have noted many good deserts in him. He’s affable, and seen[2838] in many things; Discourses well; a good companion; And though of small means, yet a gentleman 30 Of a good house, though somewhat prest by want. I have preferr’d him to a second place In my opinion and my best regard.

_Enter_ WENDOLL, MISTRESS FRANKFORD, _and_ NICHOLAS.

_Mrs. F._ Oh, Master Frankford! Master Wendoll here Brings you the strangest news that e’er you heard. 35

_Frank._ What news, sweet wife? What news, good Master Wendoll?

_Wen._ You knew the match made ’twixt Sir Francis Acton And Sir Charles Mountford?

_Frank._ True; with their hounds and hawks.

_Wen._ The matches were both play’d.

_Frank._ Ha? And which won?

_Wen._ Sir Francis, your wife’s brother, had the worst, 40 And lost the wager.

_Frank._ Why, the worse his chance; Perhaps the fortune of some other day Will change his luck.

_Mrs. F._ Oh, but you hear not all. Sir Francis lost, and yet was loth to yield. 44 At length the two knights grew to difference, From words to blows, and so to banding sides;[2839] Where valorous Sir Charles slew, in his spleen, Two of your brother’s men,—his falconer, And his good huntsman, whom be lov’d so well. More men were wounded, no more slain outright. 50

_Frank._ Now, trust me, I am sorry for the knight. But is my brother safe?

_Wen._ All whole and sound. His body not being blemish’d with one wound. But poor Sir Charles is to the prison led, To answer at th’ assize for them that’s dead.

_Frank._ I thank your pains, sir. Had the news been better, 56 Your will was to have brought it, Master Wendoll. Sir Charles will find hard friends; his case is heinous And will be most severely censur’d[2840] on. I’m sorry for him. Sir, a word with you! 60 I know you, sir, to be a gentleman In all things; your possibilities[2841] but mean: Please you to use my table and my purse; They’re yours.

_Wen._ O Lord, sir! I shall ne’er deserve it.

_Frank._ O sir, disparage not your worth too much: 65 You are full of quality[2842] and fair desert. Choose of my men which shall attend on you, And he is yours. I will allow you, sir, Your man, your gelding, and your table, all At my own charge; be my companion! 70

_Wen._ Master Frankford, I have oft been bound to you By many favours; this exceeds them all, That I shall never merit your least favour; But when your last remembrance I forget, Heaven at my soul exact that weighty debt! 75

_Frank._ There needs no protestation; for I know you Virtuous, and therefore grateful.—Prithee, Nan, Use him with all thy loving’st courtesy!

_Mrs. F._ As far as modesty may well extend, It is my duty to receive your friend. 80

_Frank._ To dinner! Come, sir, from this present day, Welcome to me for ever! Come, away! _Exeunt_ [FRANKFORD, MISTRESS FRANKFORD, _and_ WENDOLL].

_Nich._ I do not like this fellow by no means: I never see him but my heart still yearns.[2843] Zounds! I could fight with him, yet know not why; 85 The devil and he are all one in mine eye.

_Enter_ JENKIN.

_Jen._ O Nick! What gentleman is that comes to lie at our house? My master allows him one to wait on him, and I believe it will fall to thy lot. 90

_Nich._ I love my master; by these hilts, I do; But rather than I’ll ever come to serve him, I’ll turn away my master.

_Enter_ CICELY.

_Cic._ Nich’las! where are you, Nich’las? You must come in, Nich’las, and help the young gentleman off with his boots. 96

_Nich._ If I pluck off his boots, I’ll eat the spurs, And they shall stick fast in my throat like burrs.

_Cic._ Then, Jenkin, come you!

_Jen._ Nay, ’tis no boot[2844] for me to deny it. (100) My master hath given me a coat here, but he takes pains himself to brush it once or twice a day with a holly wand.

_Cic._ Come, come, make haste, that you may wash your hands again, and help to serve (105) in dinner!

_Jen._ You may see, my masters, though it be afternoon with you, ’tis yet but early days with us, for we have not din’d yet. Stay but a little; I’ll but go in and help to bear up the first (110) course, and come to you again presently. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][2845]

_Enter_ MALBY _and_ CRANWELL.

_Mal._ This is the sessions-day; pray can you tell me How young Sir Charles hath sped? Is he acquit, Or must he try the laws’ strict penalty?

_Cran._ He’s clear’d of all, spite of his enemies, Whose earnest labour was to take his life. 5 But in this suit of pardon he hath spent All the revenues that his father left him; And he is now turn’d a plain countryman, Reform’d[2846] in all things. See, sir, here he comes.

_Enter_ SIR CHARLES _and his_ Keeper.

_Keep._ Discharge your fees, and you are then at freedom. 10

_Sir C._ Here, Master Keeper, take the poor remainder Of all the wealth I have! My heavy foes Have made my purse light; but, alas! to me ’Tis wealth enough that you have set me free.

_Mal._ God give you joy of your delivery! 15 I am glad to see you abroad, Sir Charles.

_Sir C._ The poorest knight in England, Master Malby. My life has cost me all my patrimony My father left his son. Well, God forgive them That are the authors of my penury! 20

_Enter_ SHAFTON.

_Shaft._ Sir Charles! A hand, a hand! At liberty? Now, by the faith I owe, I am glad to see it. What want you? Wherein may I pleasure you?

_Sir C._ Oh me! Oh, most unhappy gentleman! I am not worthy to have friends stirr’d up, 25 Whose hands may help me in this plunge of want. I would I were in Heaven, to inherit there Th’ immortal birthright which my Saviour keeps, And by no unthrift can be bought and sold; For here on earth what pleasures should we trust! 30

_Shaft._ To rid you from these contemplations, Three hundred pounds you shall receive of me; Nay, five for fail.[2847] Come, sir, the sight of gold Is the most sweet receipt for melancholy, And will revive your spirits. You shall hold law 35 With your proud adversaries. Tush! let Frank Acton Wage, with his knighthood, like expense with me, And he will sink, he will.—Nay, good Sir Charles, Applaud your fortune and your fair escape From all these perils.

_Sir C._ Oh, sir! they have undone me. 40 Two thousand and five hundred pound a year My father at his death possest me of; All which the envious Acton made me spend; And, notwithstanding all this large expense, I had much ado to gain my liberty; 45 And I have only now a house of pleasure, With some five hundred pounds reserv’d, Both to maintain me and my loving sister.

_Shaft._ [_Aside._] That must I have, it lies convenient for me. If I can fasten but one finger on him, 50 With my full hand I’ll gripe him to the heart. ’Tis not for love I proffer’d him this coin, But for my gain and pleasure.—Come, Sir Charles, I know you have need of money; take my offer.

_Sir C._ Sir, I accept it, and remain indebted Even to the best of my unable[2848] power. 56 Come, gentlemen, and see it tend’red down![2849] [_Exeunt._]

[SCENE III.][2850]

_Enter_ WENDOLL, _melancholy._

_Wen._ I am a villain, if I apprehend[2851] But such a thought! Then, to attempt the deed, Slave, thou art damn’d without redemption.— I’ll drive away this passion with a song. 4 A song! Ha, ha! A song! As if, fond[2852] man, Thy eyes could swim in laughter, when thy soul Lies drench’d and drowned in red tears of blood! I’ll pray, and see if God within my heart Plant better thoughts. Why, prayers are meditations, And when I meditate (oh, God forgive me!) 10 It is on her divine perfections. I will forget her; I will arm myself Not t’ entertain a thought of love to her; And, when I come by chance into her presence, I’ll hale these balls until my eye-strings crack. 15 From being pull’d and drawn to look that way. _Enter, over the Stage_, FRANKFORD, _his_ Wife, _and_ NICHOLAS _and exit_]. O God, O God! With what a violence I’m hurried to mine own destruction! There goest thou, the most perfectest man That ever England bred a gentleman, 20 And shall I wrong his bed?—Thou God of thunder! Stay, in Thy thoughts of vengeance and of wrath, Thy great, almighty, and all-judging hand From speedy execution on a villain,— A villain and a traitor to his friend. 25

_Enter_ JENKIN.

_Jen._ Did your worship call?

_Wen._ He doth maintain me; he allows me largely Money to spend.

_Jen._ By my faith, so do not you me: I cannot get a cross of you. 30

_Wen._ My gelding, and my man.

_Jen._ That’s Sorrel and I.

_Wen._ This kindness grows of no alliance[2853] ’twixt us.

_Jen._ Nor is my service of any great acquaintance.

_Wen._ I never bound him to me by desert. 35 Of a mere stranger, a poor gentleman, A man by whom in no kind he could gain, He hath plac’d me in the height of all his thoughts, Made me companion with the best and chiefest In Yorkshire. He cannot eat without me, 40 Nor laugh without me; I am to his body As necessary as his digestion, And equally do make him whole or sick. And shall I wrong this man? Base man! Ingrate! Hast thou the power, straight with thy gory hands, 45 To rip thy image from his bleeding heart, To scratch thy name from out the holy book Of his remembrance, and to wound his name That holds thy name so dear? Or rend his heart To whom thy heart was knit and join’d together?— 50 And yet I must. Then Wendoll, be content! Thus villains, when they would, cannot repent.

_Jen._ What a strange humour is my new master in! Pray God he be not mad; if he should be so, I should never have any mind to serve 55 him in Bedlam. It may be he’s mad for missing of me.

_Wen._ What, Jenkin! Where’s your mistress?

_Jen._ Is your worship married? 60

_Wen._ Why dost thou ask?

_Jen._ Because you are my master; and if I have a mistress, I would be glad, like a good servant, to do my duty to her.

_Wen._ I mean Mistress Frankford. 65

_Jen._ Marry, sir, her husband is riding out of town, and she went very lovingly to bring him on his way to horse. Do you see, sir? Here she comes, and here I go.

_Wen._ Vanish! [_Exit_ JENKINS.] 70

_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD.

_Mrs. F._ You are well met, sir; now, in troth, my husband Before he took horse, had a great desire To speak with you; we sought about the house, Halloo’d into the fields, sent every way, But could not meet you. Therefore, he enjoin’d me 75 To do unto you his most kind commends,— Nay, more: he wills you, as you prize his love, Or hold in estimation his kind friendship, To make bold in his absence, and command Even as himself were present in the house; 80 For you must keep his table, use his servants, And be a present Frankford in his absence.

_Wen._ I thank him for his love.— [_Aside._] Give me a name, you, whose infectious tongues Are tipt with gall and poison: as you would Think on a man that had your father slain, 86 Murd’red your children, made your wives base strumpets, So call me, call me so: print in my face The most stigmatic[2854] title of a villain, For hatching treason to so true a friend! 90

_Mrs. F._ Sir, you are much beholding to my husband; You are a man most dear in his regard.

_Wen._ I am bound unto your husband, and you too. [_Aside._] I will not speak to wrong a gentleman Of that good estimation, my kind friend. 95 I will not: zounds! I will not. I may choose, And I will choose. Shall I be so misled, Or shall I purchase[2855] to my father’s crest The motto of a villain? If I say I will not do it, what thing can enforce me? 100 What can compel me? What sad destiny Hath such command upon my yielding thoughts? I will not;—ha! Some fury pricks me on; The swift fates drag me at their chariot wheel, And hurry me to mischief. Speak I must: 105 Injure myself, wrong her, deceive his trust!

_Mrs. F._ Are you not well, sir, that you seem thus troubled? There is sedition in your countenance.

_Wen._ And in my heart, fair angel, chaste and wise. 109 I love you! Start not, speak not, answer not; I love you,—nay, let me speak the rest; Bid me to swear, and I will call to record The host of Heaven.

_Mrs. F._ The host of Heaven forbid Wendoll should hatch such a disloyal thought?

_Wen._ Such is my fate; to this suit was I born, 115 To wear rich pleasure’s crown, or fortune’s scorn.

_Mrs. F._ My husband loves you.

_Wen._ I know it.

_Mrs. F._ He esteems you, Even as his brain, his eye-ball, or his heart.

_Wen._ I have tried it.

_Mrs. F._ His purse is your exchequer, and his table 120 Doth freely serve you.

_Wen._ So I have found it.

_Mrs. F._ Oh! With what face of brass, what brow of steel, Can you, unblushing, speak this to the face Of the espous’d wife of so dear a friend? 124 It is my husband that maintains your state.— Will you dishonour him that in your power Hath left his whole affairs? I am his wife. It is to me you speak.

_Wen._ O speak no more; For more than this I know, and have recorded Within the red-leav’d table of my heart. 130 Fair, and of all belov’d, I was not fearful Bluntly to give my life into your hand, And at one hazard all my earthly means. Go, tell your husband; he will turn me off, And I am then undone. I care not, I; 135 ’T was for your sake. Perchance, in rage he’ll kill me; I care not, ’t was for you. Say I incur The general name of villain through the world, Of traitor to my friend; I care not, I. Beggary, shame, death, scandal, and reproach,— 140 For you I’ll hazard all. Why, what care I? For you I’ll live, and in your love I’ll die.

_Mrs. F._ You move me, sir, to passion and to pity. The love I bear my husband is as precious As my soul’s health.

_Wen._ I love your husband too, 145 And for his love I will engage my life. Mistake me not; the augmentation Of my sincere affection borne to you Doth no whit lessen my regard to him. I will be secret, lady, close as night; 150 And not the light of one small glorious star Shall shine here in my forehead, to bewray That act of night.

_Mrs. F._ What shall I say? My soul is wandering, hath lost her way. Oh, Master Wendoll! Oh!

_Wen._ Sigh not, sweet saint; 155 For every sigh you breathe draws from my heart A drop of blood.

_Mrs. F._ I ne’er offended yet: My fault, I fear, will in my brow be writ. Women that fall, not quite bereft of grace, Have their offences noted in their face. 160 I blush, and am asham’d. Oh, Master Wendoll Pray God I be not born to curse your tongue, That hath enchanted me! This maze I am in I fear will prove the labyrinth of sin.

_Enter_ NICHOLAS [_behind_].

_Wen._ The path of pleasure and the gate to bliss, 165 Which on your lips I knock at with a kiss!

_Nich._ I’ll kill the rogue.

_Wen._ Your husband is from home, your bed’s no blab. Nay, look not down and blush! [_Exeunt_ WENDOLL _and_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD.]

_Nich._ Zounds! I’ll stab. Ay, Nick, was it thy chance to come just in the nick? 170 I love my master, and I hate that slave; I love my mistress, but these tricks I like not. My master shall not pocket up this wrong; I’ll eat my fingers first. What say’st thou, metal? Does not that rascal Wendoll go on legs 175 That thou must cut off? Hath he not hamstrings That thou must hough? Nay, metal, thou shalt stand To all I say. I’ll henceforth turn a spy, And watch them in their close conveyances.[2856] I never look’d for better of that rascal, 180 Since he came miching[2857] first into our house. It is that Satan hath corrupted her; For she was fair and chaste. I’ll have an eye In all their gestures. Thus I think of them: If they proceed as they have done before, 185 Wendoll’s a knave, my mistress is a—— _Exit._

[ACT III]

[SCENE I.][2858]

_Enter_ SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD _and_ SUSAN.

_Sir C._ Sister, you see we are driven to hard shift, To keep this poor house we have left unsold. I ’m now enforc’d to follow husbandry, And you to milk; and do we not live well? Well, I thank God.

_Susan._ Oh, brother! here’s a change, 5 Since old Sir Charles died in our father’s house.

_Sir C._ All things on earth thus change, some up, some down; Content ’s a kingdom, and I wear that crown.

_Enter_ SHAFTON, _with a_ Sergeant.

_Shaft._ Good morrow, morrow, Sir Charles! What! With your sister, 9 Plying your husbandry?—Sergeant, stand off!— You have a pretty house here, and a garden, And goodly ground about it. Since it lies So near a lordship that I lately bought, I would fain buy it of you. I will give you——

_Sir C._ Oh, pardon me; this house successively 15 Hath long’d to me and my progenitors Three hundred years. My great-great-grandfather, He in whom first our gentle style began, Dwelt here, and in this ground increast this mole-hill Unto that mountain which my father left me. Where he the first of all our house began, 21 I now the last will end, and keep this house,— This virgin title, never yet deflower’d By any unthrift of the Mountfords’ line. In brief, I will not sell it for more gold 25 Than you could hide or pave the ground withal.

_Shaft._ Ha, ha! a proud mind and a beggar’s purse! Where ’s my three hundred pounds, besides the use?[2859] I have brought it to an execution 29 By course of law. What! Is my money ready?

_Sir C._ An execution, sir, and never tell me You put my bond in suit? You deal extremely.[2860]

_Shaft._ Sell me the land, and I ’ll acquit you straight.

_Sir C._ Alas, alas! ’T is all trouble hath left me To cherish me and my poor sister’s life, 35 If this were sold, our names should then be quite Raz’d from the bead-roll[2861] of gentility. You see what hard shift we have made to keep it Allied still to our name. This palm you see, Labour hath glow’d within; her silver brow, 40 That never tasted a rough winter’s blast Without a mask or fan, doth with a grace Defy cold winter, and his storms outface.

_Susan._ Sir, we feed sparing, and we labour hard, We lie uneasy, to reserve to us 45 And our succession this small spot of ground.

_Sir C._ I have so bent my thoughts to husbandry, That I protest I scarcely can remember What a new fashion is; how silk or satin Feels in my hand. Why, pride is grown to us 50 A mere, mere stranger. I have quite forgot The names of all that ever waited on me. I cannot name ye any of my hounds, Once from whose echoing mouths I heard all music That e’er my heart desir’d. What should I say? 55 To keep this place, I have chang’d myself away.

_Shaft._ Arrest him at my suit!—Actions and actions Shall keep thee in perpetual bondage fast; Nay, more. I ’ll sue thee by a late appeal, And call thy former life in question. 60 The keeper is my friend; thou shalt have irons, And usage such as I ’ll deny to dogs.— Away with him!

_Sir C._ You are too timorous.[2862] But trouble is my master, And I will serve him truly.—My kind sister, Thy tears are of no use to mollify 66 The flinty man. Go to my father’s brother, My kinsmen, and allies; entreat them for me, To ransom me from this injurious man That seeks my ruin.

_Shaft._ Come, irons! Come away; 70 I ’ll see thee lodg’d far from the sight of day. _Exeunt_ [_except_ SUSAN].

_Susan._ My heart’s so hard’ned with the frost of grief, Death cannot pierce it through.—Tyrant too fell! So lead the fiends condemned souls to hell.

_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS ACTON _and_ MALBY.

_Sir F._ Again to prison! Malby, hast thou seen 75 A poor slave better tortur’d? Shall we hear The music of his voice cry from the grate,[2863] _Meat, for the Lord’s sake?_ No, no; yet I am not Throughly reveng’d. They say, he hath a pretty wench Unto his sister; shall I, in mercy-sake 80 To him and to his kindred, bribe the fool To shame herself by lewd, dishonest lust? I ’ll proffer largely; but, the deed being done, I ’ll smile to see her base confusion.

_Mal._ Methinks, Sir Francis, you are full reveng’d 85 For greater wrongs than he can proffer you. See where the poor sad gentlewoman stands!

_Sir F._ Ha, ha! Now will I flout her poverty, Deride her fortunes, scoff her base estate; My very soul the name of Mountford hates. 90 But stay, my heart! Oh, what a look did fly To strike my soul through with thy piercing eye! I am enchanted; all my spirits are fled. And with one glance my envious spleen struck dead.

_Susan._ Acton! That seeks our blood! _Runs away._

_Sir F._ O chaste and fair! 95

_Mal._ Sir Francis! Why, Sir Francis! Zounds, in a trance? Sir Francis! What cheer, man? Come, come, how is ’t?

_Sir F._ Was she not fair? Or else this judging eye Cannot distinguish beauty.

_Mal._ She was fair. 99

_Sir F._ She was an angel in a mortal’s shape, And ne’er descended from old Mountford’s line. But soft, soft, let me call my wits together! A poor, poor wench, to my great adversary Sister, whose very souls denounce stern war One against other! How now, Frank, turn’d fool 105 Or madman, whether? But no! Master of My perfect senses and directest wits. Then why should I be in this violent humour Of passion and of love? And with a person So different every way, and so oppos’d 110 In all contractions[2864] and still-warring actions? Fie, fie! How I dispute against my soul! Come, come; I’ll gain her, or in her fair quest Purchase my soul free and immortal rest. [_Exeunt._]

[SCENE II.][2865]

_Enter three or four_ Serving-men, _one with a voider[2866] and a wooden knife, to take away all; another the salt and bread; another with the table-cloth and napkins; another the carpet;_[2867] JENKIN _with two lights after them._

_Jen._ So; march in order, and retire in battle array! My master and the guests have supp’d already; all ’s taken away. Here, now spread for the serving-men in the hall!—Butler, it belongs to your office. 5

_But._ I know it, Jenkin. What d’ ye call the gentleman that supp’d there to-night?

_Jen._ Who? My master?

_But._ No, no; Master Wendoll, he’s a daily guest. I mean the gentleman that came (10) but this afternoon.

_Jen._ His name’s Master Cranwell. God’s light! Hark, within there; my master calls to lay more billets[2868] upon the fire. Come, come! Lord, how we that are in office here in the (15) house are troubled! One spread the carpet in the parlour, and stand ready to snuff the lights; the rest be ready to prepare their stomachs! More lights in the hall, there! Come, Nicholas. _Exeunt_ [_all but_ NICHOLAS].

_Nich._ I cannot eat; but had I Wendoll’s heart, 20 I would eat that. The rogue grows impudent, Oh! I have seen such vile, notorious tricks, Ready to make my eyes dart from my head. I’ll tell my master: by this air, I will; Fall what may fall, I’ll tell him. Here he comes. 25

_Enter MASTER FRANKFORD, as it were brushing the crumbs from his clothes with a napkin, as newly risen from supper._

_Frank._ Nicholas, what make you here? Why are not you At supper in the hall, among your fellows?

_Nich._ Master, I stay’d your rising from the board, To speak with you.

_Frank._ Be brief then, gentle Nicholas; My wife and guests attend[2869] me in the parlour. 30 Why dost thou pause? Now, Nicholas, you want money, And, unthrift-like, would eat into your wages Ere you had earn’d it. Here, sir, ’s half-a-crown; Play the good husband,[2870]—and away to supper!

_Nich._ By this hand, an honourable gentleman! I will not see him wrong’d. 35 Sir, I have serv’d you long; you entertain’d me Seven years before your beard; you knew me, sir, Before you knew my mistress.

_Frank._ What of this, good Nicholas?

_Nich._ I never was a make-bate[2871] or a knave; 40 I have no fault but one—I’m given to quarrel, But not with women. I will tell you, master, That which will make your heart leap from your breast, Your hair to startle from your head, your ears to tingle.

_Frank._ What preparation’s this to dismal news? 45

_Nich._ ’Sblood! sir, I love you better than your wife. I’ll make it good.

_Frank._ You are a knave, and I have much ado With wonted patience to contain my rage, And not to break thy pate. Thou art a knave. 50 I’ll turn you, with your base comparisons, Out of my doors.

_Nich._ Do, do. There is not room for Wendoll and me too, Both in one house. O master, master, That Wendoll is a villain!

_Frank._ Ay, saucy? 55

_Nich._ Strike, strike, do strike; yet hear me! I am no fool; I know a villain, when I see him act Deeds of a villain. Master, master, the base slave Enjoys my mistress, and dishonours you.

_Frank._ Thou hast kill’d me with a weapon, whose sharp point 60 Hath prick’d quite through and through my shiv’ring heart. Drops of cold sweat sit dangling on my hairs, Like morning’s dew upon the golden flowers, And I am plung’d into strange agonies. What did’st thou say? If any word that toucht 65 His credit, or her reputation, It is as hard to enter my belief, As Dives into heaven.

_Nich._ I can gain nothing: They are two that never wrong’d me. I knew before ’T was but a thankless office, and perhaps 70 As much as is my service, or my life Is worth. All this I know; but this, and more, More by a thousand dangers, could not hire me To smother such a heinous wrong from you. I saw, and I have said. 75

_Frank._ ’T is probable. Though blunt, yet he is honest. Though I durst pawn my life, and on their faith Hazard the dear salvation of my soul, Yet in my trust I may be too secure. May this be true? Oh, may it? Can it be? 80 Is it by any wonder possible? Man, woman, what thing mortal can we trust, When friends and bosom wives prove so unjust?— What instance[2872] hast thou of this strange report?

_Nich._ Eyes, [master,] eyes. 85

_Frank._ Thy eyes may be deceiv’d, I tell thee; For should an angel from the heavens drop down, And preach this to me that thyself hast told, He should have much ado to win belief; In both their loves I am so confident. 90

_Nich._ Shall I discourse the same by circumstance?

_Frank._ No more! To supper, and command your fellows To attend us and the strangers! Not a word, I charge thee, on thy life! Be secret then; For I know nothing. 95

_Nich._ I am dumb; and, now that I have eas’d my stomach,[2873] I will go fill my stomach. [_Exit._]

_Frank._ Away! Begone!— She is well born, descended nobly; Virtuous her education; her repute Is in the general voice of all the country 100 Honest and fair; her carriage, her demeanour, In all her actions that concern the love To me her husband, modest, chaste, and godly. Is all this seeming gold plain copper? But he, that Judas that hath borne my purse, Hath sold me for a sin. O God! O God! 106 Shall I put up these wrongs? No! Shall I trust The bare report of this suspicious groom, Before the double-gilt, the well-hatch’d[2874] ore Of their two hearts? No, I will lose these thoughts; 110 Distraction I will banish from my brow, And from my looks exile sad discontent. Their wonted favours in my tongue shall flow; Till I know all, I ’ll nothing seem to know.— Lights and a table there! Wife, Master Wendoll, 115 And gentle Master Cranwell!

_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD, MASTER WENDOLL, MASTER CRANWELL, NICHOLAS, _and_ JENKIN _with cards, carpets, stools, and other necessaries_.

_Frank._ O! Master Cranwell, you are a stranger here, And often balk[2875] my house; faith, y’ are a churl!— Now we have supp’d, a table, and to cards!

_Jen._ A pair[2876] of cards, Nicholas, and a carpet to cover the table! Where ’s Cicely, with her (121) counters and her box? Candles and candlesticks, there! Fie! We have such a household of serving-creatures! Unless it be Nick and I, there’s not one amongst them all that can say bo to a goose.—Well said,[2877] Nick! 126 _They spread a carpet: set down lights and cards._

_Mrs. F._ Come, Mr. Frankford, who shall take my part?[2878]

_Frank._ Marry, that will I, sweet wife. 129

_Wen._ No, by my faith, when you are together, I sit out. It must be Mistress Frankford and I, or else it is no match.

_Frank._ I do not like that match.

_Nich._ [_Aside._] You have no reason, marry, knowing all. 135

_Frank._ ’T is no great matter, neither.— Come, Master Cranwell, shall you and I take them up?[2879]

_Cran._ At your pleasure, sir. 139

_Frank._ I must look to you, Master Wendoll, for you ’ll be playing false. Nay, so will my wife, too.

_Nich._ [_Aside._] Ay, I will be sworn she will.

_Mrs. F._ Let them that are taken playing false, forfeit the set! 145

_Frank._ Content; it shall go hard but I ’ll take you.

_Cran._ Gentlemen, what shall our game be?

_Wen._ Master Frankford, you play best at noddy.[2880]

_Frank._ You shall not find it so; indeed, you shall not.

_Mrs. F._ I can play at nothing so well as double-ruff.[2881] 150

_Frank._ If Master Wendoll and my wife be together, there ’s no playing against them at double-hand.

_Nich._ I can tell you, sir, the game that Master Wendoll is best at. 155

_Wen._ What game is that, Nick?

_Nich._ Marry, sir, knave out of doors.

_Wen._ She and I will take you at lodam.

_Mrs. F._ Husband, shall we play at saint?

_Frank._ [_Aside._] My saint ’s turn’d devil.— No, we ’ll none of saint: 160 You are best at new-cut, wife, you ’ll play at that.

_Wen._ If you play at new-cut, I ’m soonest hitter of any here, for a wager.

_Frank._ [_Aside._] ’T is me they play on.—Well, you may draw out; 164 For all your cunning, ’t will be to your shame; I’ll teach you, at your new-cut, a new game. Come, come!

_Cran._ If you cannot agree upon the game, To post and pair!

_Wen._ We shall be soonest pairs; and my good host, 170 When he comes late home, he must kiss the post.[2882]

_Frank._ Whoever wins, it shall be to thy cost.

_Cran._ Faith, let it be vide-ruff, and let’s make honours!

_Frank._ If you make honours, one thing let me crave: Honour the king and queen, except the knave. 175

_Wen._ Well, as you please for that.—Lift,[2883] who shall deal?

_Mrs. F._ The least in sight. What are you, Master Wendoll?

_Wen._ I am a knave.

_Nich._ [_Aside._] I’ll swear it.

_Mrs. F._ I a queen.

_Frank._ [_Aside._] A quean, thou should’st say. —Well, the cards are mine: They are the grossest pair[2884] that e’er I felt. 180

_Mrs. F._ Shuffle, I’ll cut: would I had never dealt!

_Frank._ I have lost my dealing.

_Wen._ Sir, the fault’s in me; This queen I have more than mine own, you see. Give me the stock![2884]

_Frank._ My mind ’s not on my game. Many a deal I’ve lost; the more ’s your shame. You have serv’d me a bad trick, Master Wendoll. 186

_Wen._ Sir, you must take your lot. To end this strife, I know I have dealt better with your wife.

_Frank._ Thou hast dealt falsely, then.

_Mrs. F._ What ’s trumps? 190

_Wen._ Hearts. Partner, I rub.

_Frank._ [_Aside._] Thou robb’st me of my soul, of her chaste love; In thy false dealing thou hast robb’d my heart.— Booty you play; I like a loser stand, Having no heart, or here or in my hand. 195 I will give o’er the set, I am not well. Come, who will hold my cards?

_Mrs. F._ Not well, sweet Master Frankford? Alas what ails you? ’T is some sudden qualm.

_Wen._ How long have you been so, Master Frankford? 200

_Frank._ Sir, I was lusty, and I had my health, But I grew ill when you began to deal.— Take hence this table!—Gentle Master Cranwell, Y’ are welcome; see your chamber at your pleasure! I am sorry that this megrim takes me so, 205 I cannot sit and bear you company.— Jenkin, some lights, and show him to his chamber![2885]

_Mrs. F._ A nightgown for my husband; quickly, there! It is some rheum or cold.

_Wen._ Now, in good faith, This illness you have got by sitting late 210 Without your gown.

_Frank._ I know it, Master Wendoll. Go, go to bed, lest you complain like me!— Wife, prithee, wife, into my bed-chamber! The night is raw and cold, and rheumatic. Leave me my gown and light; I ’ll walk away my fit. 215

_Wen._ Sweet sir, good night!

_Frank._ Myself, good night! [_Exit_ Wendoll.]

_Mrs. F._ Shall I attend you, husband?

_Frank._ No, gentle wife, thou ’lt catch cold in thy head. Prithee, begone, sweet; I’ll make haste to bed.

_Mrs. F._ No sleep will fasten on mine eyes, you know, 220 Until you come. [_Exit._]

_Frank._ Sweet Nan, I prithee, go!— I have bethought me; get me by degrees The keys of all my doors, which I will mould In wax, and take their fair impression, To have by them new keys. This being compast, 225 At a set hour a letter shall be brought me, And when they think they may securely play, They nearest are to danger.—Nick, I must rely Upon thy trust and faithful secrecy.

_Nich._ Build on my faith!

_Frank._ To bed, then, not to rest! Care lodges in my brain, grief in my breast. [_Exeunt._] 231

[SCENE III.][2886]

_Enter_ SIR CHARLES’S Sister, OLD MOUNTFORD, SANDY, RODER, _and_ TIDY.

_Old Mount._ You say my nephew is in great distress; Who brought it to him but his own lewd life? I cannot spare a cross. I must confess, He was my brother’s son; why, niece, what then? This is no world in which to pity men. 5

_Susan._ I was not born a beggar, though his extremes Enforce this language from me. I protest No fortune of mine own could lead my tongue To this base key. I do beseech you, uncle, For the name’s sake, for Christianity,— 10 Nay, for God’s sake, to pity his distress. He is deni’d the freedom of the prison, And in the hole is laid with men condemn’d; Plenty he hath of nothing but of irons, And it remains in you to free him thence. 15

_Old Mount._ Money I cannot spare; men should take heed. He lost my kindred when he fell to need. _Exit._

_Susan._ Gold is but earth; thou earth enough shalt have, When thou hast once took measure of thy grave. You know me, Master Sandy, and my suit. 20

_Sandy._ I knew you, lady, when the old man liv’d; I knew you ere your brother sold his land. Then you were Mistress Sue, trick’d up in jewels; Then you sung well, play’d sweetly on the lute; But now I neither know you nor your suit. 25 [_Exit._]

_Susan._ You, Master Roder, was my brother’s tenant; Rent-free he plac’d you in that wealthy farm, Of which you are possest.

_Roder._ True, he did; And have I not there dwelt still for his sake? I have some business now; but, without doubt, They that have hurl’d him in, will help him out. _Exit._ 31

_Susan._ Cold comfort still. What say you, cousin Tidy?

_Tidy._ I say this comes of roysting,[2887] swagg’ring. Call me not cousin; each man for himself! Some men are born to mirth, and some to sorrow: 35 I am no cousin unto them that borrow. _Exit._

_Susan._ O Charity, why art thou fled to heaven, And left all things [up]on this earth uneven? Their scoffing answers I will ne’er return, But to myself his grief in silence mourn. 40

_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS _and_ MALBY.

_Sir F._ She is poor, I’ll therefore tempt her with this gold. Go, Malby, in my name deliver it, And I will stay thy answer.

_Mal._ Fair mistress, as I understand your grief Doth grow from want, so I have here in store A means to furnish you, a bag of gold, 46 Which to your hands I freely tender you.

_Susan._ I thank you, Heavens! I thank you, gentle sir: God make me able to requite this favour!

_Mal._ This gold Sir Francis Acton sends by me, 50 And prays you——

_Susan._ Acton? O God! That name I’m born to curse. Hence, bawd; hence, broker! See, I spurn his gold. My honour never shall for gain be sold.

_Sir F._ Stay, lady, stay!

_Susan._ From you I’ll posting hie, 55 Even as the doves from feather’d eagles fly. _Exit._

_Sir F._ She hates my name, my face; how should I woo? I am disgrac’d in every thing I do. The more she hates me, and disdains my love, The more I am rapt in admiration 60 Of her divine and chaste perfections. Woo her with gifts I cannot, for all gifts Sent in my name she spurns; with looks I cannot, For she abhors my sight; nor yet with letters, For none she will receive. How then? how then? Well, I will fasten such a kindness on her, 66 As shall o’ercome her hate and conquer it. Sir Charles, her brother, lies in execution For a great sum of money; and, besides, The appeal is sued still for my huntsmen’s death, 70 Which only I have power to reverse. In her I’ll bury all my hate of him.— Go seek the Keeper, Malby, bring him to me! To save his body, I his debts will pay; 74 To save his life, I his appeal will stay. [_Exeunt._]

[ACT IV]

[SCENE I.][2888]

_Enter_ SIR CHARLES [MOUNTFORD], _in prison, with irons, his feel bare, his garments all ragged and torn._

_Sir C._ Of all on the earth’s face most miserable, Breathe in this hellish dungeon thy laments! Thus like a slave ragg’d, like a felon gyv’d,— That hurls thee headlong to this base estate. Oh, unkind uncle! Oh, my friends ingrate! 5 Unthankful kinsmen! Mountford’s all too base, To let thy name be fetter’d in disgrace, A thousand deaths here in this grave I die; Fear, hunger, sorrow, cold, all threat my death, And join together to deprive my breath. 10 But that which most torments me, my dear sister Hath left[2889] to visit me, and from my friends Hath brought no hopeful answer; therefore, I Divine they will not help my misery. If it be so, shame, scandal, and contempt 15 Attend their covetous thoughts; need make their graves! Usurers they live, and may they die like slaves!

_Enter_ Keeper.

_Keep._ Knight, be of comfort, for I bring thee freedom From all thy troubles.

_Sir C._ Then, I am doom’d to die: Death is the end of all calamity. 20

_Keep._ Live! Your appeal is stay’d; the execution Of all your debts discharg’d; your creditors Even to the utmost penny satisfied. In sign whereof your shackles I knock off. You are not left so much indebted to us 25 As for your fees; all is discharg’d; all paid. Go freely to your house, or where you please; After long miseries, embrace your ease.

_Sir C._ Thou grumblest out the sweetest music to me That ever organ play’d.—Is this a dream? 30 Or do my waking senses, apprehend The pleasing taste of these applausive[2890] news? Slave that I was, to wrong such honest friends, My loving kinsman, and my near allies! 34 Tongue, I will bite thee for the scandal breath’d Against such faithful kinsmen; they are all Compos’d of pity and compassion, Of melting charity and of moving ruth. That which I spoke before was in my rage; They are my friends, the mirrors of this age; 40 Bounteous and free. The noble Mountford’s race Ne’er bred a covetous thought, or humour base.

_Enter_ SUSAN.

_Susan._ I cannot longer stay from visiting My woful brother. While I could, I kept My hapless tidings, from his hopeful ear. 45

_Sir C._ Sister, how much am I indebted to thee And to thy travail!

_Susan._ What, at liberty?

_Sir C._ Thou seest I am, thanks to thy industry. Oh! Unto which of all my courteous friends Am I thus bound? My uncle Mountford, he 50 Even of an infant lov’d me; was it he? So did my cousin Tidy; was it he? So Master Roder, Master Sandy, too. Which of all these did this high kindness do?

_Susan._ Charles, can you mock me in your poverty, 55 Knowing your friends deride your misery? Now, I protest I stand so much amaz’d, To see your bonds free, and your irons knock’d off, That I am rapt into a maze of wonder; The rather for I know not by what means 60 This happiness hath chanc’d.

_Sir C._ Why, by my uncle, My cousins, and my friends; who else, I pray, Would take upon them all my debts to pay?

_Susan._ Oh, brother! they are men [made] all of flint, Pictures of marble, and as void of pity 65 As chased bears. I begg’d, I sued, I kneel’d, Laid open all your griefs and miseries, Which they derided; more than that, deni’d us A part in their alliance; but, in pride, Said that our kindred with our plenty died. 70

_Sir C._ Drudges too much,[2891]—what did they? Oh, known evil! Rich fly the poor, as good men shun the devil. Whence should my freedom come? Of whom alive, Saving of those, have I deserv’d go well? Guess, sister, call to mind, remember me! 75 These have I rais’d, they follow the world’s guise, Whom rich [they][2892] honour, they in woe despise.

_Susan._ My wits have lost themselves; let’s ask the keeper!

_Sir C._ Gaoler!

_Keep._ At hand, sir. 80

_Sir C._ Of courtesy resolve me one demand! What was he took the burden of my debts From off my back, staid my appeal to death, Discharg’d my fees, and brought me liberty?

_Keep._ A courteous knight, one call’d Sir Francis Acton. 85

_Sir C._ Ha! Acton! Oh me! More distress’d in this Than all my troubles! Hale me back, Double my irons, and my sparing meals Put into halves, and lodge me in a dungeon More deep, more dark, more cold, more comfortless! 90 By Acton freed! Not all thy manacles Could fetter so my heels, as this one word Hath thrall’d my heart; and it must now lie bound In more strict prison than thy stony gaol. I am not free, I go but under bail. 95

_Keep._ My charge is done, sir, now I have my fees. As we get little, we will nothing leese.[2893]

_Sir C._ By Acton freed, my dangerous opposite! Why, to what end? On what occasion? Ha! Let me forget the name of enemy, 100 And with indifference balance[2894] this high favour! Ha!

_Susan._ [_Aside._] His love to me, upon my soul, ’t is so! That is the root from whence these strange things grow.

_Sir C._ Had this proceeded from my father, he That by the law of Nature is most bound 106 In offices of love, it had deserv’d My best employment to requite that grace. Had it proceeded from my friends, or him, 109 From them this action had deserv’d my life,— And from a stranger more, because from such There is less execution[2895] of good deeds. But he, nor father, nor ally, nor friend, More than a stranger, both remote in blood, And in his heart oppos’d my enemy, 115 That this high bounty should proceed from him,— Oh! there I lose myself. What should I say, What think, what do, his bounty to repay?

_Susan._ You wonder, I am sure, whence this strange kindness Proceeds in Acton; I will tell you, brother. 120 He dotes on me, and oft hath sent me gifts, Letters, and tokens; I refus’d them all.

_Sir C._ I have enough, though poor: my heart is set, In one rich gift to pay back all my debt. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.[2896]]

_Enter_ FRANKFORD _and_ NICHOLAS, _with keys and a letter in his hand_.

_Frank._ This is the night that I must play my part, To try two seeming angels.—Where’s my keys?

_Nich._ They are made according to your mould in wax. I bade the smith be secret, gave him money, And here they are. The letter, sir! 5

_Frank._ True, take it, there it is; And when thou seest me in my pleasant’st vein, Ready to sit to supper, bring it me!

_Nich._ I’ll do’t; make no more question, but I’ll do it. _Exit._

_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD, CRANWELL, WENDOLL, _and_ JENKIN.

_Mrs. F._ Sirrah, ’t is six o’clock already struck; 10 Go bid them spread the cloth, and serve in supper!

_Jen._ It shall be done, forsooth, mistress. Where’s Spigot, the butler, to give us out salt and trenchers? 14

_Wen._ We that have been a hunting all the day, Come with prepared stomachs.—Master Frankford, We wish’d you at our sport.

_Frank._ My heart was with you, and my mind was on you.— Fie, Master Cranwell! You are still thus sad.— A stool, a stool! Where’s Jenkin, and where’s Nick? 20 ’T is supper time at least an hour ago. What’s the best news abroad?

_Wen._ I know none good.

_Frank._ [_Aside._] But I know too much bad.

_Enter_ Butler _and_ JENKIN, _with a table-cloth_, _bread_, _trenchers_, _and salt_; [_then exeunt._]

_Cran._ Methinks, sir, you might have that interest[2897] In your wife’s brother, to be more remiss[2898] 25 In his hard dealing against poor Sir Charles, Who, as I hear, lies in York Castle, needy And in great want.

_Frank._ Did not more weighty business of mine own Hold me away, I would have labour’d peace 30 Betwixt them with all care; indeed I would, sir.

_Mrs. F._ I’ll write unto my brother earnestly In that behalf.

_Wen._ A charitable deed, And will beget the good opinion Of all your friends that love you, Mistress Frankford. 35

_Frank._ That’s you, for one; I know you love Sir Charles, [_Aside._] And my wife too, well.

_Wen._ He deserves the love Of all true gentlemen; be yourselves judge!

_Frank._ But supper, ho!—Now, as thou lov’st me, Wendoll, 39 Which I am sure thou dost, be merry, pleasant, And frolic it to-night!—Sweet Mr. Cranwell, Do you the like!—Wife, I protest, my heart Was ne’er more bent on sweet alacrity. Where be those lazy knaves to serve in supper?

_Enter_ NICHOLAS.

_Nich._ Here’s a letter, sir.

_Frank._ Whence comes it, and who brought it?

_Nich._ A stripling that below attends your answer, 45 And, as he tells me, it is sent from York.

_Frank._ Have him into the cellar, let him taste A cup of our March beer; go, make him drink!

_Nich._ I’ll make him drunk, if he be a Trojan.[2899] 50

_Frank._ [_after reading the letter._] My boots and spurs! Where’s Jenkin? God forgive me, How I neglect my business!—Wife, look here! I have a matter to be tri’d to-morrow By eight o’clock; and my attorney writes me, I must be there betimes with evidence, 55 Or it will go against me. Where’s my boots?

_Enter_ JENKIN, _with boots and spurs_.

_Mrs. F._ I hope your business craves no such despatch, That you must ride to-night?

_Wen._ [_Aside._] I hope it doth.

_Frank._ God’s me! No such despatch? Jenkin, my boots! Where’s Nick? Saddle my roan, 60 And the grey dapple for himself!—Content ye, It much concerns me.—Gentle Master Cranwell, And Master Wendoll, in my absence use The very ripest pleasure of my house!

_Wen._ Lord! Master Frankford, will you ride to-night? 65 The ways are dangerous.

_Frank._ Therefore will I ride Appointed[2900] well; and so shall Nick, my man.

_Mrs. F._ I ’ll call you up by five o’clock to-morrow.

_Frank._ No, by my faith, wife, I’ll not trust to that: ’T is not such easy rising in a morning 70 From one I love so dearly. No, by my faith, I shall not leave so sweet a bedfellow, But with much pain. You have made me a sluggard Since I first knew you.

_Mrs. F._ Then, if you needs will go This dangerous evening. Master Wendoll, 75 Let me entreat you bear him company.

_Wen._ With all my heart, sweet mistress.— My boots, there!

_Frank._ Fie, fie, that for my private business I should disease[2901] a friend, and be a trouble To the whole house!—Nick!

_Nich._ Anon, sir! 80

_Frank._ Bring forth my gelding!—As you love me, sir, Use no more words: a hand, good Master Cranwell!

_Cran._ Sir, God be your good speed!

_Frank._ Good night, sweet Nan; nay, nay, a kiss, and part! [_Aside._] Dissembling lips, you suit not with my heart. 85 _Exeunt_ [FRANKFORD _and_ NICHOLAS].

_Wen._ [_Aside._] How business, time, and hours, all gracious prove, And are the furtherers to my new-born love! I am husband now in Master Frankford’s place, And must command the house.—My pleasure is We will not sup abroad so publicly, 90 But in your private chamber, Mistress Frankford.

_Mrs. F._ Oh, sir! you are too public in your love, And Master Frankford’s wife——

_Cran._ Might I crave favour, I would entreat you I might see my chamber. I am on the sudden grown exceeding ill, 95 And would be spar’d from supper.

_Wen._ Light there, ho!— See you want nothing, sir, for if you do, You injure that good man, and wrong me too.

_Cran._ I will make bold; good night! [_Exit._]

_Wen._ How all conspire To make our bosom[2902] sweet, and full entire! 100 Come, Nan, I pr’ythee, let us sup within!

_Mrs. F._ Oh! what a clog unto the soul is sin! We pale offenders are still full of fear; Every suspicious eye brings danger near; When they, whose clear hearts from offence are free, 105 Despise report, base scandals do outface, And stand at mere defiance with disgrace.

_Wen._ Fie, fie! You talk too like a puritan.

_Mrs. F._ You have tempted me to mischief, Master Wendoll: I have done I know not what. Well, you plead custom; 110 That which for want of wit I granted erst, I now must yield through fear. Come, come, let’s in; Once over shoes, we are straight o’er head in sin.

_Wen._ My jocund soul is joyful beyond measure; 114 I’ll be profuse in Frankford’s richest treasure. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][2903]

_Enter_ CICELY, JENKIN, Butler, _and other_ Serving-men.

_Jen._ My mistress and Master Wendoll, my master, sup in her chamber to-night. Cicely, you are preferr’d, from being the cook, to be chambermaid. Of all the loves betwixt thee and me, tell me what thou think’st of this? 5

_Cic._ Mum; there’s an old proverb,—when the cat’s away, the mouse may play.

_Jen._ Now you talk of a cat, Cicely, I smell a rat.

_Cic._ Good words, Jenkin, lest you be call’d (10) to answer them!

_Jen._ Why, God make my mistress an honest woman! Are not these good words? Pray God my new master play not the knave with my old master! Is there any hurt in this? God send (15) no villainy intended; and if they do sup together, pray God they do not lie together! God make my mistress chaste, and make us all His servants! What harm is there in all this? Nay, more; here in my hand, thou shalt never have (20) my heart, unless thou say. Amen.

_Cic._ Amen; I pray God, I say.

_Enter_ Serving-man.

_Serving-man._ My mistress sends that you should make less noise. So, lock up the doors, and see the household all got to bed! You, 25 Jenkin, for this night are made the porter, to see the gates shut in.

_Jen._ Thus by little and little I creep into office. Come, to kennel, my masters, to kennel; ’t is eleven o’clock already. 30

_Serving-man._ When you have lock’d the gates in, you must send up the keys to my mistress.

_Cic._ Quickly, for God’s sake, Jenkin; for I must carry them. I am neither pillow nor bolster, but I know more than both. 35

_Jen._ To bed, good Spigot; to bed, good honest serving-creatures; and let us sleep as snug as pigs in pease-straw! _Exeunt._

[SCENE IV.][2904]

_Enter_ FRANKFORD _and_ NICHOLAS.

_Frank._ Soft, soft! We ’ve tied our geldings to a tree, Two flight-shot[2905] off, lest by their thundering hoofs They blab our coming back. Hear’st thou no noise?

_Nich._ Hear? I hear nothing but the owl and you.

_Frank._ So; now my watch’s hand points upon twelve, 5 And it is dead midnight. Where are my keys?

_Nich._ Here, sir.

_Frank._ This is the key that opes my outward gate; This, the hall-door; this, the withdrawing-chamber; 9 But this, that door that’s bawd unto my shame, Fountain and spring of all my bleeding thoughts, Where the most hallowed order and true knot Of nuptial sanctity hath been profan’d. It leads to my polluted bed-chamber, Once my terrestrial heaven, now my earth’s hell, 15 The place where sins in all their ripeness dwell.— But I forget myself; now to my gate!

_Nich._ It must ope with far less noise than Cripplegate, or your plot’s dash’d.

_Frank._ So; reach me my dark lantern to the rest! 20 Tread softly, softly!

_Nich._ I will walk on eggs this pace.

_Frank._ A general silence hath surpris’d the house. And this is the last door. Astonishment, Fear, and amazement, beat upon my heart, Even as a madman beats upon a drum. 25 Oh, keep my eyes, you Heavens, before I enter, From any sight that may transfix my soul; Or, if there be so black a spectacle, Oh, strike mine eyes stark blind; or if not so, Lend me such patience to digest my grief, 30 That I may keep this white and virgin hand From any violent outrage, or red murder!— And with that prayer I enter. [_Exeunt into the house._]

[SCENE V.][2906]

[_Enter_ NICHOLAS.]

_Nich._ Here’s a circumstance![2907] A man may be made cuckold in the time That he ’s about it. An the case were mine. As ’t is my master’s, ’sblood! (that he makes me swear!), 4 I would have plac’d his action,[2908] enter’d there; I would, I would!

[_Enter_ FRANKFORD.]

_Frank._ Oh! oh!

_Nich._ Master! ’Sblood! Master, master!

_Frank._ Oh me unhappy! I have found them lying Close in each other’s arms, and fast asleep. 9 But that I would not damn two precious souls, Bought with my Saviour’s blood, and send them, laden With all their scarlet sins upon their backs, Unto a fearful judgment, their two lives Had met upon my rapier.

_Nich._ Master, what, have you left them sleeping still? 15 Let me go wake ’em!

_Frank._ Stay, let me pause awhile!— Oh, God! Oh, God! That it were possible To undo things done; to call back yesterday; That Time could turn up his swift sandy glass, To untell[2909] the days, and to redeem these hours! Or that the sun 21 Could, rising from the west, draw his coach backward; Take from th’ account of time so many minutes, Till he had all these seasons call’d again, Those minutes, and those actions done in them, Even from her first offence; that I might take her 26 As spotless as an angel in my arms! But, oh! I talk of things impossible, And cast beyond the moon. God give me patience; For I will in, and wake them. _Exit._

_Nich._ Here’s patience perforce! 30 He needs must trot afoot that tires his horse. [_Exit._]

_Enter_ WENDOLL, _running over the stage in a night-gown_,[2910] FRANKFORD _after him with his sword drawn; a maid in her smock stays his hand, and clasps hold on him. He pauses for a while._

_Frank._ I thank thee, maid; thou, like the angel’s hand, Hast stay’d me from a bloody sacrifice.— Go, villain; and my wrongs sit on thy soul As heavy as this grief doth upon mine! 35 When thou record’st my many courtesies, And shalt compare them with thy treacherous heart, Lay them together, weigh them equally,— ’T will be revenge enough. Go, to thy friend A Judas; pray, pray, lest I live to see 40 Thee, Judas-like, hang’d on an elder-tree!

_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD _in her smock, night-gown, and night-attire._

_Mrs. F._ Oh, by what word, what title, or what name, Shall I entreat your pardon? Pardon! Oh! I am as far from hoping such sweet grace, As Lucifer from Heaven. To call you husband,— 45 (Oh me, most wretched!) I have lost that name; I am no more your wife.

_Nich._ ’Sblood, sir, she swoons.

_Frank._ Spare thou thy tears, for I will weep for thee; And keep thy count’nance, for I ’ll blush for thee. Now, I protest, I think ’t is I am tainted, 50 For I am most asham’d; and ’t is more hard For me to look upon thy guilty face Than on the sun’s clear brow. What! Would’st thou speak?

_Mrs. F._ I would I had no tongue, no ears, no eyes, No apprehension, no capacity. 55 When do you spurn me like a dog? When tread me Under feet? When drag me by the hair? Though I deserve a thousand, thousand fold, More than you can inflict—yet, once my husband, For womanhood, to which I am a shame, 60 Though once an ornament—even for His sake, That hath redeem’d our souls, mark not my face, Nor hack me with your sword; but let me go Perfect and undeformed to my tomb! I am not worthy that I should prevail 65 In the least suit; no, not to speak to you, Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence; Yet, as an abject,[2911] this one suit I crave;— This granted, I am ready for my grave.

_Frank._ My God, with patience arm me!—Rise, nay, rise, 70 And I ’ll debate with thee. Was it for want Thou play’dst the strumpet? Wast thou not suppli’d With every pleasure, fashion, and new toy,— Nay, even beyond my calling?[2912]

_Mrs. F._ I was.

_Frank._ Was it, then, disability in me; 75 Or in thine eye seem’d he a properer man?

_Mrs. F._ Oh, no!

_Frank._ Did I not lodge thee in my bosom? Wear thee here in my heart?

_Mrs. F._ You did.

_Frank._ I did, indeed; witness my tears, I did— Go, bring my infants hither!— [_Two_ Children _are brought in_.] Oh, Nan! Oh, Nan! If neither fear of shame, regard of honour, 81 The blemish of my house, nor my dear love, Could have withheld thee from so lewd a fact; Yet for these infants, these young, harmless souls, 84 On whose white brows thy shame is character’d, And grows in greatness as they wax in years,— Look but on them, and melt away in tears!— Away with them; lest, as her spotted body Hath stain’d their names with stripe of bastardy, So her adulterous breath may blast their spirits With her infectious thoughts! Away with them! [_Exeunt_ Children.] 91

_Mrs. F._ In this one life, I die ten thousand deaths.

_Frank._ Stand up, stand up! I will do nothing rashly. I will retire awhile into my study, And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently. _Exit._

_Mrs. F._ ’T is welcome, be it death. Oh me, base strumpet, 96 That, having such a husband, such sweet children, Must enjoy neither! Oh, to redeem mine honour, I ’d have this hand cut off, these my breasts sear’d; Be rack’d, strappado’d, put to any torment: 100 Nay, to whip but this scandal out, I’d hazard The rich and dear redemption of my soul! He cannot be so base as to forgive me, Nor I so shameless to accept his pardon. Oh, women, women, you that yet have kept 105 Your holy matrimonial vow unstain’d, Make me your instance; when you tread awry, Your sins, like mine, will on your consciense lie.

_Enter_ CICELY, SPIGOT, _all the_ Serving-men, _and_ JENKIN, _as newly come out of bed_.

_All._ Oh, mistress, mistress! What have you done, mistress?

_Nich._ ’Sblood, what a caterwauling keep you here! 110

_Jen._ O Lord, mistress, how comes this to pass? My master is run away in his shirt, and never so much as call’d me to bring his clothes after him.

_Mrs. F._ See what guilt is! Here stand I in this place, 115 Asham’d to look my servants in the face.

_Enter_ FRANKFORD _and_ CRANWELL; _whom seeing, she falls on her kneees_.

_Frank._ My words are regist’red in Heaven already. With patience hear me! I ’ll not martyr thee, Nor mark thee for a strumpet; but with usage Of more humility torment thy soul, 120 And kill thee even with kindness.

_Cran._ Master Frankford———

_Frank._ Good Master Cranwell!—Woman, hear thy judgment! Go make thee ready in thy best attire; 124 Take with thee all thy gowns, all thy apparel; Leave nothing that did ever call thee mistress, Or by whose sight, being left here in the house, I may remember such a woman by. Choose thee a bed and hangings for thy chamber; Take with thee every thing which hath thy mark, 130 And get thee to my manor seven mile off, Where live;—’t is thine; I freely give it thee. My tenants by[2913] shall furnish thee with wains To carry all thy stuff within two hours; No longer will I limit[2914] thee my sight. 135 Choose which of all my servants thou lik’st best, And they are thine to attend thee.

_Mrs. F._ A mild sentence.

_Frank._ But, as thou hop’st for Heaven, as thou believ’st Thy name’ s recorded in the book of life, I charge thee never after this sad day 140 To see me, or to meet me; or to send, By word or writing, gift or otherwise, To move me, by thyself, or by thy friends; Nor challenge any part in my two children. So farewell, Nan; for we will henceforth be 145 As we had never seen, ne’er more shall see.

_Mrs. F._ How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears; What wants in words, I will supply in tears.

_Frank._ Come, take your coach, your stuff; all must along. Servants and all make ready; all begone! 150 It was thy hand cut two hearts out of one. [_Exeunt._]

[ACT V]

[SCENE I.][2915]

_Enter_ SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, _gentleman-like, and his_ Sister, _gentlewoman-like_.

_Susan._ Brother, why have you trick’d[2916] me like a bride, Bought me this gay attire, these ornaments? Forget you our estate, our poverty?

_Sir C._ Call me not brother, but imagine me Some barbarous outlaw, or uncivil kern;[2917] 5 For if thou shutt’st thine eye, and only hear’st The words that I shall utter, thou shalt judge me Some staring ruffian, not thy brother Charles. Oh, sister!——

_Susan._ Oh, brother! what doth this strange language mean? 10

_Sir C._ Dost love me, sister? Wouldst thou see me live A bankrupt beggar in the world’s disgrace, And die indebted to mine enemies? Wouldst thou behold me stand like a huge beam In the world’s eye, a bye-word and a scorn? 15 It lies in thee of these to acquit me free, And all my debt I may outstrip by thee.

_Susan._ By me? Why, I have nothing, nothing left; I owe even for the clothes upon my back; I am not worth——

_Sir C._ O sister, say not so! 20 It lies in you my downcast state to raise; To make me stand on even points with the world. Come, sister, you are rich; indeed you are, And in your power you have, without delay Acton’s five hundred pounds back to repay. 25

_Susan._ Till now I had thought you lov’d me. By my honour (Which I have kept as spotless as the moon), I ne’er was mistress of that single doit[2918] Which I reserv’d not to supply your wants; And do you think that I would hoard from you? 30 Now, by my hopes in Heaven, knew I the means To buy you from the slavery of your debts (Especially from Acton, whom I hate), I would redeem it with my life or blood! 34

_Sir C._ I challenge it, and, kindred set apart, Thus, ruffian-like, I lay siege to thy heart. What do I owe to Acton?

_Susan._ Why, some five hundred pounds; towards which, I swear, In all the world I have not one denier.[2919]

_Sir C._ It will not prove so. Sister, now resolve[2920] me: 40 What do you think (and speak your conscience) Would Acton give, might he enjoy your bed?

_Susan._ He would not shrink to spend a thousand pound To give the Mountfords’ name so deep a wound.

_Sir C._ A thousand pound! I but five hundred owe: 45 Grant him your bed; he’s paid with interest so.

_Susan._ Oh, brother!

_Sir C._ Oh, sister! only this one way, With that rich jewel you my debts may pay. In speaking this my cold heart shakes with shame; Nor do I woo you in a brother’s name, 50 But in a stranger’s. Shall I die in debt To Acton, my grand foe, and you still wear The precious jewel that he holds so dear?

_Susan._ My honour I esteem as dear and precious As my redemption.

_Sir C._ I esteem you, sister, 55 As dear, for so dear prizing it.

_Susan._ Will Charles Have me cut off my hands, and send them Acton? Rip up my breast, and with my bleeding heart Present him as a token?

_Sir C._ Neither, sister; But hear me in my strange assertion! 60 Thy honour and my soul are equal in my regard; Nor will thy brother Charles survive thy shame. His kindness, like a burden, hath surcharg’d me, And under his good deeds I stooping go, Not with an upright soul. Had I remain’d 65 In prison still, there doubtless I had died. Then, unto him that freed me from that prison, Still do I owe this life. What mov’d my foe To enfranchise me? ’T was, sister, for your love; With full five hundred pounds he bought your love;— 70 And shall he not enjoy it? Shall the weight Of all this heavy burden lean on me, And will not you bear part? You did partake The joy of my release; will you not stand In joint-bond bound to satisfy the debt? 75 Shall I be only charg’d?

_Susan._ But that I know These arguments come from an honour’d mind, As in your most extremity of need Scorning to stand in debt to one you hate,— Nay, rather would engage your unsustain’d honour, 80 Than to be held ingrate,—I should condemn you. I see your resolution, and assent; So Charles will have me, and I am content.

_Sir C._ For this I trick’d[2921] you up.

_Susan._ But here ’s a knife, To save mine honour, shall slice out my life. 85

_Sir C._ I know thou pleasest me a thousand times More in that resolution than thy grant.— Observe her love; to soothe it to my suit, Her honour she will hazard, though not lose; To bring me out of debt, her rigorous hand 90 Will pierce her heart,—O wonder!—that will choose, Rather than stain her blood, her life to lose. Come, you sad sister to a woful brother, This is the gate. I ’ll bear him such a present, Such an acquittance for the knight to seal, 95 As will amaze his senses, and surprise With admiration all his fantasies.

_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS ACTON _and_ MALBY.

_Susan._ Before his unchaste thoughts shall seize on me, ’T is here shall my imprison’d soul set free.

_Sir F._ How! Mountford with his sister, hand in hand! 100 What miracle’s afoot?

_Mal._ It is a sight Begets in me much admiration.[2922]

_Sir C._ Stand not amaz’d to see me thus attended! Acton, I owe thee money, and, being unable To bring thee the full sum in ready coin, 105 Lo! for thy more assurance, here’s a pawn,— My sister, my dear sister, whose chaste honour I prize above a million. Here! Nay, take her; She’s worth your money, man; do not forsake her.

_Sir F._ I would he were in earnest! 110

_Susan._ Impute it not to my immodesty. My brother, being rich in nothing else But in his interest that he hath in me, According to his poverty hath brought you 114 Me, all his store; whom, howsoe’er you prize, As forfeit to your hand, he values highly, And would not sell, but to acquit your debt, For any emperor’s ransom.

_Sir F._ Stern heart, relent, Thy former cruelty at length repent! Was ever known, in any former age, 120 Such honourable, wrested courtesy? Lands, honours, life, and all the world forego, Rather than stand engag’d to such a foe!

_Sir C._ Acton, she is too poor to be thy bride, And I too much oppos’d to be thy brother. 125 There, take her to thee; if thou hast the heart To seize her as a rape, or lustful prey; To blur our house, that never yet was stain’d; To murder her that never meant thee harm; To kill me now, whom once thou sav’dst from death:— 130 Do them at once; on her all these rely, And perish with her spotless chastity.

_Sir F._ You overcome me in your love, Sir Charles. I cannot be so cruel to a lady I love so dearly. Since you have not spar’d 135 To engage your reputation to the world, Your sister’s honour, which you prize so dear, Nay, all the comforts which you hold on earth, To grow out of my debt, being your foe,— Your honour’d thoughts, lo! thus I recompense. Your metamorphos’d foe receives your gift 141 In satisfaction of all former wrongs. This jewel I will wear here in my heart; And where before I thought her, for her wants, Too base to be my bride, to end all strife, 145 I seal you my dear brother, her my wife.

_Susan._ You still exceed us. I will yield to fate, And learn to love, where I till now did hate.

_Sir C._ With that enchantment you have charm’d my soul And made me rich even in those very words! 150 I pay no debt, but am indebted more; Rich in your love, I never can be poor.

_Sir F._ All’s mine is yours; we are alike in state; Let’s knit in love what was oppos’d in hate! Come, for our nuptials we will straight provide, Blest only in our brother and fair bride. [_Exeunt._] 156

[SCENE II.][2923]

_Enter_ CRANWELL, FRANKFORD, _and_ NICHOLAS.

_Cran._ Why do you search each room about your house, Now that you have despatch’d your wife away?

_Frank._ Oh, sir! To see that nothing may be left That ever was my wife’s. I lov’d her dearly; And when I do but think of her unkindness, 5 My thoughts are all in hell; to avoid which torment, I would not have a bodkin or a cuff, A bracelet, necklace, or rabato wire,[2924] Nor anything that ever was call’d hers, Left me, by which I might remember her.— 10 Seek round about.

_Nich._ ’Sblood! master, here’s her lute flung in a corner.

_Frank._ Her lute! Oh, God! Upon this instrument Her fingers have rung quick division,[2925] Sweeter than that which now divides our hearts. 15 These frets have made me pleasant,[2926] that have now Frets of my heart-strings made. Oh, Master Cranwell, Oft hath she made this melancholy wood (Now mute and dumb for her disastrous chance) Speak sweetly many a note, sound many a strain 20 To her own ravishing voice; which being well strung, What pleasant strange airs have they jointly sung!— Post with it after her!—Now nothing’s left; Of her and hers I am at once bereft.

_Nich._ I’ll ride and overtake her; do my message, 25 And come back again. [_Exit._]

_Cran._ Meantime, sir, if you please, I’ll to Sir Francis Acton, and inform him Of what hath past betwixt you and his sister.

_Frank._ Do as you please.—How ill am I bested, To be a widower ere my wife be dead! [_Exeunt._] 30

[SCENE III.][2927]

_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD; _with_ JENKIN, _her maid_ CICELY, _her_ Coachmen, _and three_ Carters.

_Mrs. F._ Bid my coach stay! Why should I ride in state, Being hurl’d so low down by the hand of fate? A seat like to my fortunes let me have,— Earth for my chair, and for my bed a grave!

_Jen._ Comfort, good mistress; you have (5) watered your coach with tears already. You have but two miles now to go to your manor. A man cannot say by my old master Frankford as he may say by me, that he wants manors; for he hath three or four, of which this is one that we are going to now. 11

_Cic._ Good mistress, be of good cheer! Sorrow, you see, hurts you, but helps you not; we all mourn to see you so sad.

_Carter._ Mistress, I spy one of my landlord’s men 15 Come riding post: ’t is like he brings some news.

_Mrs. F._ Comes he from Master Frankford, he is welcome; So is his news, because they come from him.

_Enter_ NICHOLAS.

_Nich._ There!

_Mrs. F._ I know the lute. Oft have I sung to thee; 20 We both are out of tune, both out of time.

_Nich._ Would that had been the worst instrument that e’er you played on! My master commends him to ye; there’s all he can find was ever yours; he hath nothing left that ever you could lay claim to but his own heart,—and (26) he could afford you that! All that I have to deliver you is this: he prays you to forget him; and so he bids you farewell. 29

_Mrs. F._ I thank him; he is kind, and ever was. All you that have true feeling of my grief, That know my loss, and have relenting hearts, Gird me about, and help me with your tears To wash my spotted sins! My lute shall groan; It cannot weep, but shall lament my moan. [_She plays._] 35

_Enter_ WENDOLL [_behind_].

_Wen._ Pursu’d with horror of a guilty soul, And with the sharp scourge of repentance lash’d, I fly from mine own shadow. O my stars! What have my parents in their lives deserv’d, 39 That you should lay this penance on their son? When I but think of Master Frankford’s love, And lay it to my treason, or compare My murdering him for his relieving me, It strikes a terror like a lightning’s flash, To scorch my blood up. Thus I, like the owl, 45 Asham’d of day, live in these shadowy woods, Afraid of every leaf or murmuring blast, Yet longing to receive some perfect knowledge How he hath dealt with her. [_Seeing_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD.] O my sad fate! Here, and so far from home, and thus attended! Oh, God! I have divorc’d the truest turtles 51 That ever liv’d together, and, being divided, In several places make their several moan; She in the fields laments, and he at home; So poets write that Orpheus made the trees 55 And stones to dance to his melodious harp, Meaning the rustic and the barbarous hinds, That had no understanding part in them: So she from these rude carters tears extracts, Making their flinty hearts with grief to rise, 60 And draw down rivers from their rocky eyes.

_Mrs. F._ [_to_ NICHOLAS.] If you return unto my master, say (Though not from me, for I am all unworthy To blast his name so with a strumpet’s tongue) That you have seen me weep, wish myself dead! 65 Nay, you may say, too (for my vow is past),[2928] Last night you saw me eat and drink my last. This to your master you may say and swear; For it is writ in heaven, and decreed here.

_Nich._ I’ll say you wept; I’ll swear you made me sad. 70 Why, how now, eyes? What now? What’s here to do? I’m gone, or I shall straight turn baby too.

_Wen._ [_Aside._] I cannot weep, my heart is all on fire. Curs’d be the fruits of my unchaste desire!

_Mrs. F._ Go, break this lute upon my coach’s wheel, 75 As the last music that I e’er shall make,— Not as my husband’s gift, but my farewell To all earth’s joy; and so your master tell!

_Nich._ If I can for crying.

_Wen._ [_Aside._] Grief, have done, Or, like a madman, I shall frantic run. 80

_Mrs. F._ You have beheld the wofull’st wretch on earth,— A woman made of tears; would you had words To express but what you see! My inward grief No tongue can utter; yet unto your power You may describe my sorrow, and disclose 85 To thy sad master my abundant woes.

_Nich._ I’ll do your commendations.[2929]

_Mrs. F._ Oh, no! I dare not so presume; nor to my children! I am disclaim’d in both; alas! I am. Oh, never teach them, when they come to speak, 90 To name the name of mother: chide their tongue, If they by chance light on that hated word; Tell them ’t is naught; for when that word they name, Poor, pretty souls! they harp on their own shame.

_Wen._ [_Aside._] To recompense their wrongs, what canst thou do? 95 Thou hast made her husbandless, and childless too.

_Mrs. F._ I have no more to say.—Speak not for me; Yet you may tell your master what you see.

_Nich._ I’ll do ’t. _Exit._

_Wen._ [_Aside._] I’ll speak to her, and comfort her in grief. 100 Oh, but her wound cannot be cur’d with words! No matter, though; I’ll do my best, good will To work a cure on her whom I did kill.

_Mrs. F._ So, now unto my coach, then to my home, So to my death-bed; for from this sad hour, 105 I never will nor eat, nor drink, nor taste Of any cates[2930] that may preserve my life. I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest; But when my tears have wash’d my black soul white, Sweet Saviour, to thy hands I yield my sprite.

_Wen._ [_coming forward._] Oh, Mistress Frankford!

_Mrs. F._ Oh, for God’s sake, fly! 111 The devil doth come to tempt me, ere I die. My coach!—This sin, that with an angel’s face Conjur’d[2931] mine honour, till he sought my wrack, In my repentant eye seems ugly, black. 115

_Exeunt all_ [_except_ WENDOLL _and_ JENKIN]; _the_ Carters _whistling_.

_Jen._ What, my young master, that fled in his shirt! How come you by your clothes again? You have made our house in a sweet pickle, ha’ ye not, think you? What, shall I serve you still, or cleave to the old house? 120

_Wen._ Hence, slave! Away, with thy unseason’d mirth! Unless thou canst shed tears, and sigh, and howl, Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaim on fate, Thou art not for my turn.

_Jen._ Marry, an you will not, another will; farewell, and be hang’d! Would you had (126) never come to have kept this coil[2932] within our doors! We shall ha’ you run away like a sprite again. [_Exit._]

_Wen._ She ’s gone to death; I live to want and woe, 130 Her life, her sins, and all upon my head. And I must now go wander, like a Cain, In foreign countries and remoted climes, Where the report of my ingratitude Cannot be heard. I ’ll over first to France, 135 And so to Germany and Italy; Where, when I have recovered, and by travel Gotten those perfect tongues,[2933] and that these rumours May in their height abate, I will return: And I divine (however now dejected), 140 My worth and parts being by some great man prais’d, At my return I may in court be rais’d. _Exit._

[SCENE IV.][2934]

_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS ACTON, SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, CRANWELL, [MALBY,] _and_ SUSAN.

_Sir F._ Brother, and now my wife, I think these troubles, Fall on my head by justice of the heavens, For being so strict to you in your extremities; But we are now aton’d. I would my sister Could with like happiness o’ercome her griefs 5 As we have ours.

_Susan._ You tell us, Master Cranwell, wondrous things Touching the patience of that gentleman, With what strange virtue he demeans[2935] his grief.

_Cran._ I told you what I was a witness of; 10 It was my fortune to lodge there that night.

_Sir F._ Oh, that same villain, Wendoll! ’T was his tongue That did corrupt her; she was of herself Chaste and devoted well.[2936] Is this the house?

_Cran._ Yes, sir; I take it, here your sister lies.[2937] 15

_Sir F._ My brother Frankford show’d too mild a spirit In the revenge of such a loathed crime. Less than he did, no man of spirit could do. I am so far from blaming his revenge, That I commend it. Had it been my case, 20 Their souls at once had from their breasts been freed; Death to such deeds of shame is the due meed.

_Enter_ JENKIN _and_ CICELY.

_Jen._ Oh, my mistress, mistress! my poor mistress!

_Cicely._ Alas! that ever I was born; what (25) shall I do for my poor mistress?

_Sir C._ Why, what of her?

_Jen._ Oh, Lord, sir! she no sooner heard that her brother and her friends had come to see how she did, but she, for very shame of her 30 guilty conscience, fell into such a swoon, that we had much ado to get life in her.

_Susan._ Alas, that she should bear so hard a fate! Pity it is repentance comes too late.

_Sir F._ Is she so weak in body? 35

_Jen._ Oh, sir! I can assure you there ’s no hope of life in her; for she will take no sust’nance: she hath plainly starv’d herself, and now she ’s as lean as a lath. She ever looks for the good hour. Many gentlemen and gentlewomen of the (40) country are come to comfort her.

[SCENE V.][2938]

[SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, SIR FRANCIS ACTON, MALBY, CRANWELL, _and_ SUSAN.]

_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD _in her bed_.

_Mal._ How fare you, Mistress Frankford?

_Mrs. F._ Sick, sick, oh, sick! Give me some air, I pray you! Tell me, oh, tell me, where is Master Frankford? Will not he deign to see me ere I die?

_Mal._ Yes, Mistress Frankford; divers gentlemen, 5 Your loving neighbours, with that just request Have mov’d, and told him of your weak estate:[2939] Who, though with much ado to get belief, Examining of the general circumstance, Seeing your sorrow and your penitence, 10 And hearing therewithal the great desire You have to see him, ere you left the world, He gave to us his faith to follow us, And sure he will be here immediately.

_Mrs. F._ You have half reviv’d me with the pleasing news, 15 Raise me a little higher in my bed.— Blush I not, brother Acton? Blush I not, Sir Charles? Can you not read my fault writ, in my cheek? Is not my crime there? Tell me, gentlemen.

_Sir C._ Alas, good mistress, sickness hath not left you 20 Blood in your face enough to make you blush.

_Mrs. F._ Then, sickness, like a friend, my fault would hide.— Is my husband come? My soul but tarries His arrive; then I am fit for heaven.

_Sir F._ I came to chide you, but my words of hate 25 Are turn’d to pity and compassionate grief. I came to rate you, but my brawls, you see, Melt into tears, and I must weep by thee.— Here’s Master Frankford now.

_Enter_ FRANKFORD.

_Frank._ Good morrow, brother; morrow, gentlemen! 30 God, that hath laid this cross upon our heads, Might (had He pleas’d) have made our cause of meeting On a more fair and more contented ground; But He that made us made us to this woe.

_Mrs. F._ And is he come? Methinks, that voice I know. 35

_Frank._ How do you, woman?

_Mrs. F._ Well, Master Frankford, well; but shall be better, I hope within this hour. Will you vouchsafe, Out of your grace and your humanity, To take a spotted strumpet by the hand? 40

_Frank._ This hand once held my heart in faster bonds, Than now ’tis gripp’d by me. God pardon them That made us first break hold!

_Mrs. F._ Amen, amen! Out of my zeal to Heaven, whither I’m now bound, I was so impudent to wish you here; 45 And once more beg your pardon. O, good man, And father to my children, pardon me. Pardon, oh, pardon me: my fault so heinous is, That if you in this world forgive it not, Heaven will not clear it in the world to come. 50 Faintness hath so usurp’d upon my knees, That kneel I cannot; but on my heart’s knees My prostrate soul lies thrown down at your feet, To beg your gracious pardon. Pardon, oh, pardon me!

_Frank._ As freely, from the low depth of my soul, 55 As my Redeemer hath forgiven His death, I pardon thee. I will shed tears for thee; pray with thee; And, in mere pity of thy weak estate, I’ll wish to die with thee.

_All._ So do we all.

_Nich._ So will not I; I’ll sigh and sob, but, by my faith, not die. 60

_Sir F._ Oh, Master Frankford, all the near alliance I lose by her, shall be suppli’d in thee. You are my brother by the nearest way; Her kindred hath fall’n off, but yours doth stay.

_Frank._ Even as I hope for pardon, at that day 65 When the Great Judge of heaven in scarlet sits, So be thou pardon’d! Though thy rash offence Divorc’d our bodies, thy repentant tears Unite our souls.

_Sir C._ Then comfort, Mistress Frankford! You see your husband hath forgiven your fall; 70 Then rouse your spirits, and cheer your fainting soul!

_Susan._ How is it with you?

_Sir F._ How d’ ye feel yourself?

_Mrs. F._ Not of this world.

_Frank._ I see you are not. and I weep to see it. My wife, the mother to my pretty babes! 75 Both those lost names I do restore thee back, And with this kiss I wed thee once again. Though thou art wounded in thy honour’d name, And with that grief upon thy death-bed liest, Honest in heart, upon my soul, thou diest. 80

_Mrs. F._ Pardon’d on earth, soul, thou in heaven art free; Once more thy wife, dies thus embracing thee.[2940] [_Dies._]

_Frank._ New-married, and new-widow’d.—Oh! she’s dead. And a cold grave must be her nuptial bed.

_Sir C._ Sir, be of good comfort, and your heavy sorrow 85 Part equally amongst us; storms divided Abate their force, and with less rage are guided.

_Cran._ Do. Master Frankford; he that hath least part, Will find enough to drown one troubled heart.

_Sir. F._ Peace with thee, Nan!—Brothers and gentlemen, 90 All we that can plead interest in her grief, Bestow upon her body funeral tears! Brother, had you with threats and usage bad Punish’d her sin, the grief of her offence Had not with such true sorrow touch’d her heart. 95

_Frank._ I see it had not; therefore, on her grave Will I bestow this funeral epitaph, Which on her marble tomb shall be engrav’d, In golden letters shall these words be fill’d:[2941] _Here lies she whom her husband’s kindness kill’d._

THE EPILOGUE

An honest crew, disposed to be merry, Came to a tavern by, and call’d for wine. The drawer brought it, smiling like a cherry, And told them it was pleasant, neat[2942] and fine. ‘Taste it,’ quoth one. He did so. ‘Fie!’ (quoth he) 5 ‘This wine was good; now ’t runs too near the lee.’

Another sipp’d, to give the wine his due, And said unto the rest, it drunk too flat; The third said, it was old; the fourth, too new; Nay, quoth the fifth, the sharpness likes me not. 10 Thus, gentlemen, you see how, in one hour, The wine was new, old, flat, sharp, sweet, and sour.

Unto this wine we do allude[2943] our play, Which some will judge too trivial, some too grave: You as our guests we entertain this day, 15 And bid you welcome to the best we have. Excuse us, then; good wine may be disgrac’d, When every several mouth hath sundry taste.

THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE

BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PROLOGUE. A CITIZEN. HIS WIFE. RALPH,[2944] his Apprentice. Boys.

VENTUREWELL, a Merchant. HUMPHREY. MERRYTHOUGHT. JASPER, } MICHAEL,} His Sons. TIM, } GEORGE, } Apprentices. WILLIAM HAMMERTON. GEORGE GREENGOOSE. Host. Tapster. Barber. Three Men, supposed captives. Sergeant. Soldiers and Attendants.

LUCE, Daughter of Venturewell. MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT. POMPIONA, Daughter of the King of Moldavia. Woman, supposed a captive.

SCENE.—_London and the neighbouring Country, excepting Act IV, Scene II, where it is in Moldavia._]

TO THE READERS OF THIS COMEDY[2945]

GENTLEMEN;

The world is so nice[2946] in these our times, that for apparel there is no fashion: for music (which is a rare art, though now slighted) no instrument; for diet, none but the French kickshaws that are delicate; and for plays, no invention but that which now runneth an invective way, touching some particular persons, or else it is contemned before it is thoroughly understood. This is all that I have to say: that the author had no intent to wrong any one in this comedy; but, as a merry passage, here and there interlaced it with delight, which he hopes will please all, and be hurtful to none.

PROLOGUE[2947]

Where the bee can suck no honey, she leaves her sting behind; and where the bear cannot find origanum[2948] to heal his grief, he blasteth all other leaves with his breath. We fear it is like to fare so with us; that, seeing you cannot draw from our labours sweet content, you leave behind you a sour mislike,[2949] and with open reproach blame our good meaning, because you cannot reap the wonted mirth. Our intent was at this time to move inward delight, not outward lightness; and (5) to breed (if it might be) soft smiling, not loud laughing; knowing it, to the wise, to be a great pleasure to hear counsel mixed with wit, as to the foolish, to have sport mingled with rudeness. They were banished the theatre of Athens, and from Rome hissed, that brought parasites on the stage with apish actions, or fools with uncivil habits, or courtesans with immodest words. We have endeavoured to be as far from unseemly speeches, to make your ears glow, as we hope you (10) will be free from unkind reports, or mistaking the authors’[2950] intention, (who never aimed at any one particular in this play,) to make our cheeks blush. And thus I leave it, and thee to thine own censure, to like or dislike.—VALE.

[INDUCTION]

[_Several_ Gentlemen _sitting on Stools upon the Stage. The_ Citizen, _his_ Wife, _and_ RALPH _sitting below among the Audience_.]

_Enter_ PROLOGUE.

[_Prol._] “From all that’s near the court, from all that’s great, Within the compass of the city-walls, We now have brought our scene——”

Citizen [_leaps on the stage_].

_Cit._ Hold your peace, goodman boy!

_Prol._ What do you mean, sir? 5

_Cit._ That you have no good meaning: this seven years there hath been plays at this house,[2951] I have observed it, you have still girds[2952] at citizens; and now you call your play “The London Merchant.” Down with your title,[2953] boy! down with your title! 11

_Prol._ Are you a member of the noble city?

_Cit._ I am.

_Prol._ And a freeman?

_Cit._ Yea, and a grocer.[2954] 15

_Prol._ So, grocer, then, by your sweet favour, we intend no abuse to the city.

_Cit._ No, sir! yes, sir. If you were not resolv’d to play the Jacks,[2955] what need you study for new subjects, purposely to abuse your betters? (20) Why could not you be contented, as well as others, with “The legend of Whittington,”[2956] or “The Life and Death of Sir Thomas Gresham, with the building of the Royal Exchange,”[2957] or “The story of Queen Eleanor, (25) with the rearing of London Bridge upon woolsacks?”[2958]

_Prol._ You seem to be an understanding man: what would you have us do, sir? 29

_Cit._ Why present something notably in honour of the commons of the city.

_Prol._ Why, what do you say to “The Life and Death of fat Drake, or the Repairing of Fleet-privies?” 34

_Cit._ I do not like that; but I will have a citizen, and he shall be of my own trade.

_Prol._ Oh, you should have told us your mind a month since; our play is ready to begin now.

_Cit._ ’T is all one for that; I will have a grocer, and he shall do admirable[2959] things. 40

_Prol._ What will you have him do?

_Cit._ Marry, I will have him——

_Wife._ (_below._) Husband, husband!

_Ralph._ (_below._) Peace, mistress. 44

_Wife._ [_below._] Hold thy peace, Ralph; I know what I do, I warrant ’ee.—Husband, husband!

_Cit._ What sayst thou, cony?[2960]

_Wife._ [_below._] Let him kill a lion with a (49) pestle, husband! Let him kill a lion with a pestle!

_Cit._ So he shall.—I’ll have him kill a lion with a pestle.

_Wife._ [_below._] Husband! shall I come up, husband? 55

_Cit._ Ay, cony.—Ralph, help your mistress this way.—Pray, gentlemen, make her a little room.—I pray you, sir, lend me your hand to help up my wife: I thank you, sir.—So.

[Wife _comes on the stage_.]

_Wife._ By your leave, gentlemen all; I’m (60) something troublesome. I’m a stranger here; I was ne’er at one of these plays, as they say, before; but I should have seen[2961] “Jane Shore”[2962] once; and my husband hath promised me, any time this twelvemonth, to carry me 65 to “The Bold Beauchamps,”[2963] but in truth he did not. I pray you, bear with me.

_Cit._ Boy, let my wife and I have a couple of stools and then begin; and let the grocer do rare things. [_Stools are brought._] 70

_Prol._ But, sir, we have never a boy[2964] to play him: every one hath a part already.

_Wife._ Husband, husband, for God’s sake, let Ralph play him! Beshrew me, if I do not think he will go beyond them all. 75

_Cit._ Well rememb’red, wife.—Come up, _Ralph._—I’ll tell you, gentlemen; let them but lend him a suit of reparel[2965] and necessaries, and, by gad, if any of them all blow wind in the tail on him,[2966] I’ll be hang’d. 80

[RALPH _comes on the stage_.]

_Wife._ I pray you, youth, let him have a suit of reparel!—I’ll be sworn, gentlemen, my husband tells you true. He will act you sometimes at our house, that all the neighbours (84) cry out on him; he will fetch you up a couraging part so in the garret, that we are all as fear’d, I warrant you, that we quake again: we’ll fear our children with him; if they be never so unruly, do but cry, “Ralph comes, Ralph comes!” to them, and they’ll be as (90) quiet as lambs.—Hold up thy head, Ralph; show the gentlemen what thou canst do; speak a huffing[2967] part; I warrant you, the gentlemen will accept of it.

_Cit._ Do, Ralph, do. 95

_Ralph._ “By Heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac’d moon; Or dive into the bottom of the sea, Where never fathom-line toucht any ground, And pluck up drowned honour from the lake of hell.”[2968] 100

_Cit._ How say you, gentlemen, is it not as I told you?

_Wife._ Nay, gentlemen, he hath play’d before, my husband says, “Mucedorus,”[2969] before the wardens of our company. 105

_Cit._ Ay, and he should have play’d Jeronimo[2970] with a shoemaker for a wager.

_Prol._ He shall have a suit of apparel, if he will go in.

_Cit._ In, Ralph, in, Ralph; and set out the grocery in their kind, if thou lov’st me. 111 [_Exit_ RALPH.]

_Wife._ I warrant, our Ralph will look finely when he’s drest.

_Prol._ But what will you have it call’d?

_Cit._ “The Grocer’s Honour.” 115

_Prol._ Methinks “The Knight of the Burning Pestle” were better.

_Wife._ I’ll be sworn, husband, that’s as good a name as can be.

_Cit._ Let it be so.—Begin, begin; my wife and I will sit down. 121

_Prol._ I pray you, do.

_Cit._ What stately music have you? You have shawms?[2971]

_Prol._ Shawms? No.

_Cit._ No! I’m a thief if my mind did not (126) give me so. Ralph plays a stately part, and he must needs have shawms. I’ll be at the charge of them myself, rather than we’ll be without them. 130

_Prol._ So you are like to be.

_Cit._ Why, and so I will be: there’s two shillings;—[_Gives money._]—let’s have the waits of Southwark—they are as rare fellows as any are in England; and that will fetch them all o’er the water with a vengeance, as if they (136) were mad.

_Prol._ You shall have them. Will you sit down then?

_Cit._ Ay.—Come, wife. 140

_Wife._ Sit you merry all, gentlemen; I’m bold to sit amongst you for my ease. [Citizen _and_ Wife _sit down._]

_Prol._ “From all that’s near the court, from all that’s great, Within the compass of the city-walls, We now have brought our scene. Fly far from hence 145 All private taxes,[2972] immodest phrases, Whatever may but show like vicious! For wicked mirth never true pleasure brings, But honest minds are pleas’d with honest things.”— Thus much for that we do; but for Ralph’s part you must answer for yourself. 151

_Cit._ Take you no care for Ralph; he’ll discharge himself, I warrant you. [_Exit_ PROLOGUE.]

_Wife._ I’ faith, gentlemen, I’ll give my word for Ralph. 155